You are here because the outside world rejects you. They don’t want you. You’re different, you’re strange. You’re peculiar and you’re just not like everybody else. Your mind, your mind thinks differently to the people around you.

They think you’re crazy. You’re crazy. You’re so damn crazy. They think you’ll do something, something that is dangerous. Are they worried about you or their reputation?

So, they lock you up. You’re crazy. You’re uncontrollable. Nothing will stop you from getting what you want. You’re a monster. That’s what they tell you. Again and again and again.

There’s something wrong with you. When the logic says right, you think left. When initiative tells you up, you think down. You’re so weird. You try to call out, you try to say, no, I’m not crazy. I just don’t think the same as every other person. But they tell you, no, you have it wrong. You’re crazy. You’re out of control.

You walk the aisles that are starched a merciless colour. It blinds you in an unforgivable manner. As you walk these aisles, you notice guards trailing behind you, keeping their beady eyes glued to your back. They can’t trust you because you’re crazy.

Your mind churns and tumbles, begging, calling, for a safe haven where they can hide from the vicious of the world. You reach your so-called ‘room’ and are instantly tied up to shackles.

I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy. You tell this to yourself over and over again, I’m not, I’m not. But you know that they will never believe you. Only you know that you’re an ordinary person with a mind that has temporarily gone haywire. Only you know that you’re not harmful. Only you know that you miss your family and you miss your mother’s hugs and you miss your father’s smile. You’re the only one that knows.

They press and polk and jab injections into you, thinking that liquid will cure your mind. They make you do exercises and tasks, thinking it will make you stronger. Little do they know that it’s their words that really bring you down.

Don’t disobey any orders. You’re crazy. You’re so damn crazy that someone needs to look after you. Someone needs to be by your side 24/7 to make sure you don’t try to hurt someone. They still think you’re a murderer. A serial killer. A burglar. A liar. Anything with negative connotations, they will link back to you.

You breathe in, slow and heavy. You tell yourself, I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy. I’m temporarily broken. But I can be healed. Not like this, not the way they are treating me. I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy. I’m not a murderer. I won’t hurt anyone. I don’t need shackles. I don’t need injections or exercises, I just need love and patience. I don’t need anymore pain. I don’t need constant monitoring. I’m not crazy.