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And I was just like you.
Main Entry: 1cra•zy
Inflected Form(s): cra•zi•er; cra•zi•est
1 a : full of cracks or flaws
How did I get here? Well, it’s quite simple, really. In today’s world, the line we walk between sanity and insanity is so very thin. You would be surprised just how easy it is to get in here, contrary wise, you’d be surprised just how impossible it is to get out. You talk to yourself? Nut job. You can’t think straight? Crazy. You a little jumpy today? Lunatic. It really is that easy. Am I making you uncomfortable? I hope so, because we’re just getting started.
Who was the first person to define the word, ‘crazy’? I’d sure like to meet him, the things I would do to that wretched, filthy, man. How did it come about? Were they sitting at afternoon tea when his sister started talking nonsense and he suddenly blurted out, “CRAZY GIRL!”? You may be wondering why I so despise the creator of a word, I bet you’re even calling me crazy in your head right now as your eyes float over these words. I wouldn’t blame you if you were; neither would the morons who put me here. “Where am I?” you ask? Why, I reside at none other than the local sanatorium; the loony bin, asylum, mental institution, the madhouse. Whatever you call it, I’m still stuck here, among the crazies, where I belong, where they belong, where you belong, where we all end up. Accept that; you’re going to need it when we’re through.
I’m not telling you how I got here, that’s your desert, which you only get, if you wade through your meal of insanity. Can you manage that? I doubt it, if you could, you wouldn’t be feeling a little crazy yourself right now. Isn’t it funny how we always feel a bit more mental after listening to the ramblings of a lunatic? You know that saying, “out of the mouths of babies…”? I think it lies, “out of the mouths of lunatics…” now that’s more like it. Even though, according to your standards, I’m the crazy one, you can see where I’m coming from. My thoughts at least tickle your fancy, if they didn’t, you would’ve put this book down after the first sentence. So, dear reader, does it make you the crazy one for agreeing with a crazy girl?
Ray Charles, Sylvia Plath, John Nash, James Taylor; All famous, all institutionalized at one point in their lives. Kurt Cobain, Isaac Newton, Ludwig Von Beethoven, Abraham Lincoln, Vincent Van Gogh, Winston Churchill. All famous, all suffered with mental disorders. Feeling uneasy, yet? Have I shattered the history you thought you knew? I hope so.
Did you know that doctors used to believe causing the patients to vomit actually helped their sanity? Or that they would try to ‘bleed out’ the insanity? The patients were treated as scum; nothing more than a minor inconvenience. Ironically, they weren’t the ones who were going to be punished for torturing others when their judgment came. They were shackled to the walls like prisoners. I bet you’re thinking that it’s a wonderful thing asylums aren’t like that anymore. We get shackled inside our rooms instead, shackled down with invisible, but very real restraints. We get probed and poked for answers every day. People trying to find out, just what made us this way. Nothing made us this way any more than it made you your way. I think it’s random; spin of the needle, roll of the dice. You never know who’s going over the edge next, or why, or when. For all we know, you could be losing it in the back of your mind as you sit there quietly reading.
On that note, I have a question for you; how many of your friends/acquaintances would you consider ‘insane’? Then, ask yourself why you consider them to be as such. And then, ask yourself, “If I know this many people I would classify as crazy, how many are already to the breaking point, and just really good actors?” Is that lump in your throat growing, yet?
I feel sorry for you, I really do. Having to worry and fret about every little thing you say, wondering if it came out right, or sounded off in some way. Are you secretly worrying about turning into me? Being insane has been the most freeing experience of my whole life. When people think you’re crazy, they worry less about your words, more about your actions. I could be throwing every curse word in the book at my nurse, but as long as I have a smile on my face, she thinks everything’s just fine. You normal people, have the opposite problem. Your actions don’t matter, just walk the walk you want to, and stand still and lie through your teeth, and the world is your oyster. If I had known then what I know now, I would’ve lived more in that world, before I became resurrected into this one, think about that.
I was a teacher, around children every day that was my job. Had I known this would later become my fate, I may have had a second thought or two, or maybe not, you never know when this all began. Maybe I wanted to be crazy and be around children, maybe I didn’t. Either way, now you’re wondering about your children’s teachers, your teachers, aren’t you?
Maybe I lied to you; maybe I wasn’t a teacher at all. Maybe I was a police officer, around innocent citizens every day, whilst armed with a gun. All the freedom given to a police officer given to a loon, there’s a reassuring thought. I’ll let you wonder about all your law enforcement officials, now. If not law enforcement, maybe I worked at a grocery store. Maybe I touched every bit of your food when I put it on the shelves. Maybe I licked your food. Maybe I was in your local neighborhood watch team, patrolling the streets, looking into your windows. Maybe I was simply in your neighborhood, looking into the windows, watching your children play in your backyard. Maybe you’re never going to know what I did. Maybe you’re replaying in your head the number of times you’ve felt watched, the number of times you’ve felt like something wasn’t right. Maybe you’re beginning to realize you’ll never know if that was me. Does it scare you how easy it is for me to get inside your head? It should.
“Antisocial Personality Disorder; Borderline Personality Disorder; Brief Psychotic Disorder; Hypomania; Intermittent Explosion Disorder;”
I read all of that junk from my file. They have so many ‘disorders’ listed that I may or may not have, that I’m either perfectly normal or perfectly insane; I don’t believe they actually know which. Imagine; if they could sit down and come up with all of that, about little old me, (who you, dear reader, already believe to be insane) imagine what we could come up with for you. If they really sat down, with the good old DSMMD in hand, and read through every disorder, I’m sure you would be sitting next door to me, in your own padded room. You see, we are not perfect. The human race is not perfect. And some of us are even less perfect than others. This, we call insanity. Insanity is a term created by man to explain that portion of society that doesn’t quite fit in. Normality is a term created by man to prove to yourself that nothing is wrong with you. It’s all an elaborate defense mechanism. But, what are you defending yourself from? If you were meant to be anything but what you will eventually become, you wouldn’t eventually become me. So, defending yourself will do no good.
My favorite part out of that whole load of crap, would have to be the one note Dr. Jekyll(or is it Mr. Hyde?) managed to scribble down; “Patient is considered a threat, could be dangerous. Watch closely.” Would you like to know why that’s my favorite part? It’s because they know I’m a threat. What they don’t know, is I’m a threat to their sanity, not to their well-being. You see, once you become one of us, you no longer exist as a human being; you are now equivalent to the walking dead in this place. They don’t understand quite what we are, they fear us, they don’t want to catch what we have, and they’re slowly killing us. I, as I write this, am trapped inside my perpetual zombie movie. But, I’m not the zombie that terrifies you all, I’m not the one who pops on screen and gives you a mini heart attack; I am the best friend who regretfully gets bitten. The one every one just knew was going to make it to the end, but I let down my audience. You see, like the brave survivors of any great zombie movie, the normals in this place, trapped with us zombies, they know that eventually, they will become just like us. And I believe that is the true horror of any zombie movie, and of our lives.
My doctor tells me I’m making serious progress; I could be out of here, soon. They think I’m practically cured. Tell me, do I seem cured to you? Maybe it’s just me, but I feel a bit of hostility inside me. Can you sense it? Tell me, friend, you ever felt this way? This insanity we all hear of, can strike at any time. Some days, I feel fine, and some days, I just reminiscence about the glorious day I got put in here. It felt so good to let go, be free, and go crazy. You should try it sometime. Better sooner rather than later, after all, we all go crazy sometime.
So, dear reader, as we come to the end of our journey into your mind, how are you feeling? More sane? More insane? Me, well, I feel at peace. For the first time, I feel like I am not alone in the world. You have given that to me, and I thank you. But, we had a deal, didn’t we? You ate all of your meal, ate up everything I shoved down your throat; so, here’s your desert:
My name is Andi, Andi Sumpter. And when I was three years old, I tried to hang my little sister. My name is Andi, Andi Sumpter. And when I was fifteen years old, I tried to kill myself. My name is Andi, Andi Sumpter. And when I was sixteen, I decided to straighten up, and I did. My name is Andi, Andi Sumpter. And when I was eighteen, I gave up on happiness. My name is Andi, Andi Sumpter. And when I was twenty three years old, I became a psychologist. My name is Andi, Andi Sumpter. And when I was twenty three and a half, I was hired in an asylum in the little town of Washton. My name is Andi, Andi Sumpter. And when I was twenty four, I realized how twisted we all truly are. My name is Andi, Andi Sumpter. And when I was twenty four and a half, I snuck into my old house. The one my parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, nieces, and nephews were all in for our reunion. I knew that they always kept some extra kerosene in the shed, for cookouts, campfires, things like that; I stole the kerosene, along with a box of matches from underneath the grill. Can you see where this is going? I lit that old, hideous house; burnt it sky high. And as I sat and watched my past go up in smoke, I wondered for one second if any of my relatives were awake for this, and I secretly hoped they were. They didn’t make it out for me to ask. The flames grew higher and higher, taller and brighter, and all I could do was laugh. The perfect thing about killing someone in their sleep; is that, the sleeping can’t scream, can’t fight, can’t have a chance. My name is Andi, Andi Sumpter. And on my twenty fifth birthday, I was checked into the Washton Mental Institution. My name is Andi, Andi Sumpter. And when I was twenty five and a half, I finished writing a book for the normal people out there, to show them the truth of the fine line they walk. My name is Andi, Andi Sumpter. And when I was twenty five and a half, I sent two copies of my book; to a publisher, and to you, dear reader. My name is Andi, Andi Sumpter. And when I was twenty six and two minutes old, I got a call that my book had reached you and the publisher. My name is Andi, Andi Sumpter. And when I was twenty six and three minutes old, I swallowed all of the pills I had been hiding under my tongue for weeks. My name is Andi, Andi Sumpter. And when I was twenty six and twenty minutes old, I killed myself. My name is Andi, Andi Sumpter. And I used to be you. My name is Andi, Andi Sumpter. And when I was watching you read this from above, I changed your life.