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Crazy Like Me
I ask too many questions. At least that’s what everyone tells me. I know it’s really because they get tired of listening to me. They say I drone on and on and bombard them with questions. Apparently I always want to fight with someone about something. I’m just curious, I think. My favorite question is “Why?” and that drives them insane. I can be really good at comebacks too, but that’s just my “rude and obnoxious sarcasm” according adults.
My mother is the worst of them all; I can’t ever win with that woman. I talk too little, I talk too much, I ignore her, I irritate her. Which do I choose to get yelled at for this time? Usually I go with ignore, so I don’t have to see her, but if I’m really itching to pick a fight, I go to my dad. I don’t know why I do that. He gets furious and loud; he yells, swears, and throws stuff around. But it helps when I can yell back. I let out my anger at them by screaming, arguing and crying. They say that it will get me into trouble later in life if I fight just for the sake of fighting. Then other times, they contradict that by telling me I should be an attorney or something. I don’t know what they want from me, but when they say I’m a “horribly manipulative annoyance,” I start to believe it.
Maybe it’s for the sake of rebellion that I have to always disagree. I’m too opinionated, and it gets me into trouble. It’s really just that I think too much, but I love it. Thinking is like a drug to me. I’m addicted to it. I couldn’t ever live without it. When I’m depressed, it’s what I turn to. When I’m angry, it’s what I turn to. When I’m happy, it’s what I turn to. If you take it from me, I might die. You say too much is bad. I can never get enough. Don’t take away my ability to think.
When I’m at home, I lock myself in my room, close the shades, put on music, and ignore the rest of the world. No one can tell me what to do because they don’t exist. I like pretending the world doesn’t exist; I can do things my way and not think about anyone else. People say that’s selfish, but do you really think I care?
I hate school because I have to be bossed around and have people shoving information at me. Tests are just a compilation of someone else’s ideas and opinions arranged into multiple choice questions, and then I’m graded on how focused I was that day. It’s a ridiculous concept designed for torturing minors. When I walk past the doors at school, I think about just walking out. No one guards the doors at school- everyone knows it’s not worth it to try and run away. There are people watching here, and I don’t like it. I’m miserable, overtaken, and hopeless.
I walk out a lot- temporary running away, long walks, and drives to nowhere in particular. I like to be spontaneous, and I don’t tell anyone where I’m going. If they know, they find me and drag me back to reality. I know I have to come back eventually, but if I go away (a drive in the rain preferably), far, far away from my house, school, and the people who hate me- I’m as close to happy as physically possible.
It takes a lot for me to be happy. I see other people upstaging my version of happy and it depresses me even more. The happy I know is probably wrong. Everything is wrong. All I did was say something wrong, and I wound up here! I must have taken freedom for granted; people always do, and I don’t understand how they can’t enjoy freedom. People seem to need others to tell them what to do every minute of every day or they’re lost. That’s why people bother me. They’re all hypocrites when they tell you their ideas. I would rather have someone slap me across the face if I started being hypocritical than let others hear it. I’ll try to keep my mouth shut for now.
I learned a long time ago that it’s easier to just not say what I think. People judge me, and then things go badly. Of course, I can’t ever do anything the simple way, and so I choose not to keep my thoughts to myself. If I kept everything inside, I’ll lose my mind; if I tell people what I think, they’re convinced I already have lost my mind, and I end up being judged or in trouble. I’m always in trouble for something, even though they told me I’m not this time. I think they have to tell all of teenagers that when they come here so they don’t freak out. Well, it didn’t help. I’m freaking out.
Just a tip for success in life: keep any hints of insanity or questionable thoughts away from people who have the power to lock you up. If you are ever questioning whether or not it could have you judged and deemed “unstable,” don’t say it. They say everything is safe with them, in confidence, protected- unless you set off a red flag. Anything violent, anything related to death, anything that makes you sound hopeless in life will get you in the exact same place I am right now.
While I’m sitting here, as horrible as it all is, I like being away from my family. It’s like a break from it all. When I leave, I won’t go home. They don’t want me there, so I won’t go back. It’s that simple. Anywhere else is better. I would stay here forever, but we’re watched too closely, and I don’t see the few people I really want to see. Plus, the food is horrible, and I can’t wear what I want. I need to find a place where I can just sit in a room all day, thinking, not talking. I haven’t talked out loud in three days. And that was just to talk to the shrink who is “helping me get better.” I was never bad to begin with! They made me “bad” because they labeled me “bad.”
I saw my chart the first day I came here, however many weeks ago it was. It said I was “depressed, manic, violent, and anxious.” Maybe they should throw in “skeptical” because I don’t believe them, except for maybe the depressed part, which seems true. It doesn’t surprise me if I’m insane and dangerous to others and myself. I hope they know they aren’t making it any better at all by doing this. They make me furious, and when I’m angry, it’s worse because I act on impulse.
When I get mad, I fight the system. So this is me doing just that. They gave me a notebook and said to journal my thoughts. Well, here it is. I’m writing a guide to the other crazies out there who need a voice that agrees with them, besides the little one in their heads. As useful as that is, a real person is better sometimes. So I assume that if you are reading this, you are either some F.B.I. person trying to solve a mystery about me depending on what I manage to do, a news person getting ideas for your primetime report, or a crazy person, looking for advice.
I hope you are crazy like me because then you will really be accepting and understanding of all of this: the back story, emotions, and the tips. That would also mean that my plan worked out. If you are anyone else reading this, a sane person, analyzing my every thought, you won’t understand. You never will understand. Don’t bother trying. The only way you could ever be close to understanding is if you lose yourself within yourself, and answer the question I’ve been asked by countless people: “And how do you feel about that?”