Are You Hearing Voices Again? [COMPLETED]

Introduction

Question of the day:

Why ask for help if you don't want to be cured?

I'm asked that question a lot. Honestly, I don't know. I love the irony of this place. You know, mental hospitals are supposed to keep you safe, help you get better.

Better my ass.

I don't think being strapped in a straight jacket and being left in a room for days on end without socialization and entertainment can heal a guy. If anything, it makes you worse. Of course, being the awful fuck that I am, I kinda sorta deserved this; although, wouldn't you throw a chair at a guy for stepping into your room to give you your daily meds, furthermore breaking his nose and collar bone? No? Only me?

Okay.

Fuck, I know I'm not all right up there but I'm not crazy. Promise me, you won't ever think I'm crazy. Please? Pretty please?

Well alright. Good.

Good good good. Hey, you know what's good? Pudding. The pudding here is great. Since the doctors and the nurses love me so, they give me extra if I'm a good boy.

It's quite alarming though. I don't know why they love me.

Hah oh wait. I forgot.

I'm fake.

I could pull a lie out of a rats ass everyday without fail and no one would suspect a thing.

I'm like a king here, really. Aside from all the nut jobs and wackos the walk around this building, I'm probably the most sane person the staff has ever met. No. I am the most sane person here.

I always ask myself why I was admitted in here. Why did I do that? I think I was tripping on cocaine or something because, honestly, a guy like me doesn't belong here, yet I somehow fit in.

I'm not complaining, though. I like it. Free food, free rooms- oh. And my favorite part, solitary fucking confinement.

If you couldn't tell, the last one was sarcasm.

I'm a very sarcastic person if you truly wanted to know. So, what you can conclude from me thus far is:

1: I'm an asshole

2: I'm sarcastic

And 3: I really don't like making lists. So fuck you. We're done here.

Ha just kidding.

You know, this makes me think about back home, when everything was nice and peachy. My drug addict mom led to some pretty fucked up drug addict kids. My little brother, Mikey, he got out of there pretty quick. I got out soon after. Well, out of the house I mean. Not the drugs.

I've been in this institution for so damn long that, fuck me if I'm wrong, my mom could be dead and my brother could be a father. Just a wild guess at least.

Speaking of fathers, mine died when I was about five.

If you guessed it, then you would be correct. Suicide.

Fun

I'm actually obsessed with the irony of suicide. People kill themselves because they don't want to be a burden, yet dying is such a burden on us all. Funeral costs and such.

I've only been to one funeral in my life. It was that of my grandma. Maybe that's when I finally...

Anyways! Back to ironic things-
No, I'm bored of that topic now. I'm bored of you. Why are you still reading this exactly? You want to read a stupid story about a stupid person that had no actual impact on your stupid life.

Oh, sorry. Maya, my physiatrist, doesn't like it when I get upset with people. I'm not upset at you all specifically.

I don't know what I'm upset about.

Maybe that I'm still stuck in a padded white walled room for a stupid god damned reason.

I should've thrown the chair harder to see what else I could break.

New question on the day:

How do you break people?