The overwhelming thoughts in my head

My life had always been boring, really. Just an average day, every single day. Then suddenly everything was busy and bright and I couldn't think any more. *contains swearing*


5. Epilogue

That was how I ended up here.

Now they keep me tied up all the time, in this room. White floor, white ceiling, white walls. Padded too, so that I won't hurt people. Or myself.

I tried that a few times. Stabbing myself with a fork didn't go as well as I planned, or banging my head against anything I could. They soon stopped that.

My arms are trapped inside the straitjacket, buckled tightly and checked every day by my guard. I have to eat with just my face. At least they're considerate enough to cut it up small.

It’s not so bad, I guess. They say that I’m lucky they didn’t kill me, that we don’t have the death sentence in this country. Yay for me.

A psychiatrist comes in and talks to me sometimes. At me, more like. He asks me about why I did it, about what’s in my head, about the things I hear. I tell him. There’s no reason not to, I figure. He said that he believes me, but I don’t think he does. But for my sake, because I told him it hurts less, he tries to think less when he comes to speak to me. Which is nice of him.

Other than that, and the person who brings me my food, it’s quiet.

And that’s the one thing I longed for all along.

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