The Boy with the Scrambled Mind

Part 1

I'm having another episode, the walls are spinning and then they melt. But everyone knows walls don't do that, then why is it happening to me why do I fear there's a strange man hiding behind the door to the other room that's ready to get me at a moment's notice? Why do when I look at people they seem to have faces that twist and contort and bend in all sorts of unpleasant ways to painful scowls like I've done something wrong but I've just got here how could I have done something wrong? Is it because my shirt is too under dressed for the occasion? Am I too strange where I have no brick wall to be a part of? If so, then why do I exist? Do I exist? Am I already dead did I forget to pass on and everyone that talks to me is just being friendly at the gaff I made or are they making fun of me? Making fun of the boy that's mind is too scrambled to even allow him to remember how to pass on? Does that make me immortal or worse than I would be if I were fully dead or fully alive in a mismatch personal hell. I don't know but time feels like it's moving it's moving too fast I can feel it the passage of time keeps getting more and more brutal as I get older and everyone around me is growing grey hair I wasted too much time I'm running out of time I want to scream for someone to help me but there's no stopping time, it will trample all of us to death at its own beat of its own drum care not if we have hopes and dreams and families to live for it will age us prune then have death take what's left of the scraps to hell where we disappear into a void to never think again, to never love and to never dream again and where hope has long since died. But I can't even enjoy this life not a single person I've ever met has understood me as a person, just haphazardly putting random labels onto me without understanding why I am the way that I am. I'm neither a source of good or evil but a person that wants to understand why they think and why they are alive. But I can never come up with a satisfying conclusion to either of those answers, most answers to far more simple questions lead me just as dissatisfied and further away from the answers I seek in life. I don't think even if I was smart enough to figure out the answers to everything that it would change anything, it would just leave me to different problems with their own issues such as boredom and apathy. Writing keeps my mind from being scrambled as much but it still feels like my thoughts come and go as often as people have in my life, as with people you become desensitized to it you realize that not caring at all is all you can do. People will call you unemotional or closed off or distant ad things much worse than these but you know they'd call you much worse things if they knew you cared deep down they'd use it against you. People hurting others for being different even in slight variations of themselves is humanity's favorite past time besides being completely ignorant of the nature of themselves.