I lost myself in love.

I lost myself in insanity.

  Pumpkin pie is my favorite, especially when done right. If made by a good baker, the filling will be smooth and spiced just correctly. No strange, tangy after taste. Maybe spiced with nutmeg or cinnamon, just enough to keep you in that dreamy autumn-winter world. And the crust. OH, the crust will be an added cherry. It will be flaky and firm. But when I take a bite out of this soft, flavored filling just to get the nice sweet piece of crust with it, I'd swear I think I'd fall into a whole other world....

See, I thought everyone would understand these feelings I receive when eating pie, and the fact that you just can't stop the noises you make when eating something delicious. But, apparently, this guard does not get it. He continues to stare at me as if I am...crazy. Oh. I understand now. God, I suppose I'll never understand how insane I really am. My therapists continues to tell me that what I did was wrong, but I guess it doesn't register. Besides, most of the time I'm not really listening to what either of them says. I'm too out of it to listen to several different boring, grey-haired, psychologist run on and on about my childhood. I'm spending time actually thinking, no offense to them. And after today, I won't have to spend anymore time listening to them. Because after today, I'll be spending all my time with him.

Now that I have finished this excellently made pie, I can continue where I left off. With a gun.

I probably should have been more frightened then I was when he mentioned the gun. But, see, I was already terrified. I had been scared out of my wits when my father was yelling and the thought of my only friend being ripped away from had driven me over the edge. My therapist once mentioned something about a moment when I "snapped".

This moment is different for many people. Most I talked to about it said everything was blank, they knew what they were doing but...it was an out of body experience and there was no way to stop it. Time ticked be slowly for some as they did their deed. Others claim it was it was fast and erratic. These people were usually more apologetic. For me, it was slow. He gave me the orders, and without hesitation I followed them. I can still remember his voice pushing me to find that gun.

"It's in here somewhere, sweetie, all we need to do is find it. Hurry, honey. Fast," he hissed out. His eyes were frantic, most likely mirroring mine. "Check the closet, come on! There you go, love." I can smile as I look back at that moment, now. He always used to a bunch of nicknames for me when he was worried. He must have called me by more than fifty different names during that night.

I can't remember why he had been so frantic then. My father would be out for awhile longer before picking up my brothers so there would be plenty of time. But he paced around the room as if there were only seconds left.

"Come on, love. It's here, you don't think he got rid of it do you? It's here, I love you. You can find it," His words didn't make the work go any faster. I had trashed the room to where I could never clean it up. Drinks had spilled, books from the shelf were now a pile on the ground. The trash had been dumped all over, and the sheets lay askew.

Then I realized how dense I had been. I had forgotten to check the most obvious spot, under the bed. I quickly dropped to my knees beside it. And then for some reason, I had paused. I can't remember what I had been thinking at that moment, but, whatever it was that made me pause apparently had not been enough to stop me. Under the bed had laid a rectangular box. Probably once used to store a large pair of work boots, the old box had then held a .45 caliber pistol with two clips by its side.

Silence had surrounded the room when I found that gun, I can't be for sure but I think I had hit reality for a moment. I had been sitting alone in a room trashed by me, looking down at a gun that would soon kill. If someone had walked in on me at that moment, maybe I wouldn't have done what I had done.