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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1881132-Plagued-Without-Sanity
Rated: 13+ · Prose · Emotional · #1881132
Don't let them in your head! They wish to clean, to make you who you are not!
Everyone says it's safe to talk. Safe to let down your guard, and let the people in. Let them look inside your mind. But it isn't. You see, some people have nice minds. Everything put away where it should be, everything all neat, and organized. Everything just perfect, with bows and bells and whistles in check. And then you have people with my mind. Everything cluttered. Booby traps around every corner - Every step a risk to your own health, your own well being.

It seems like this pattern of mind-fluctuation is contagious, too. It's a disease that creeps in like plague rats running through a city. Tiny claws scurrying, and with one bite...

That's why its better to keep things locked up. Keep them hidden. There are secrets buried deep within, and you get used to lugging them around. They're not stored in boxes, or shelves like everyone else – labeled nicely so everyone can see, and judge, and pick it apart. But rather buried deep in an ocean of thought. Treasure chests sunken with ships sailed and sank long ago within the depths of your mind.

It has to be this way. If anyone knew, oh how they'd point and laugh! The doctors would look quickly in their boxes, and find labels and slap them everywhere around you. Anything and everything to toss you into the middle of society. Writing on their pads, and finding clever words like 'sick' and 'chronic'. They don't care about you. They only care about organizing your head so people can see it more clearly.

When you do get found out, they try to find ingenious ways to throw you away. Put you into special buildings to be watched by others – observed like a cell through a microscope. They'll ask you questions while vigorously writing in their notebooks – all the while shaking their heads. Judging.

"So, why is it you cut yourself dear?" They'll say. Making terms of endearment as a means to lower your guard, let them inside your inner-sanctum. Ha! Can you not see through their trap? They only want to clean! They wish to make you something you are not! Do not fall for it!

"Because there are things inside of me that I have to let out." You smile. Clever you think. He won't understand, but I do.

"What kind of things?"

Shit! He's pressuring you now. He wants to know your secrets! He wishes to take them away. Just keep your mouth shut. Everything will be fine if you just stop talking.

"Monsters."

Good. Nothing too specific. Nothing to give him the key, or force himself inside. Nothing of the past...

He writes a bit, his brow furrowed, mumbling something. Schiz..Schizo...Oh, who can tell. Just close your eyes, and make sure nothing has changed inside.

"I want to do further analysis. I think you might be diseased."

Your breath shortens. You've said too much! Too much! He knows, oh he knows! Your secret has been found, and now he wishes to snatch it away!

"Fret not. Just standard testing for this sort of thing. No need to worry."

But you do. Your chest is tight, and your breathing shallow. Your eyes dart back and forth, and you fall to the ground. Now look at what you've done! The nurses dash to you, syringe in hand.

"Quick! She's having a panic attack!"

They stick you in the arm, and the plunger draws down. Sin flooding your system. Washing away the light, as you dose off into the night.

Blink groggily. You're in your room again, away from the doctors, and the fright, and the prodding and poking. Sitting on your bed with blood-stained hands. Your legs ache, but you can't remember why. Move slightly, just an inch, and it floods back.

Collapse. Crying, and shaking, and throwing things into the darkness of your room. Nothing is ever the same you think. It never can be.
© Copyright 2012 Rhayven (amayis at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1881132-Plagued-Without-Sanity