I've been given many names in-between these four walls. Sometimes it's Manny. Sometimes it's a number. Other times it's some sort of slur somehow excavated out of the throats of the mentally insane. It honestly makes me laugh that they think I'm crazy, crazy enough to toss me in some sort of mental institute. I've heard small things about where we're at. Mostly from the doctors and scientists that sit around the outside of the cafeteria, sitting there in their snow white, God forsaken coats like they aren't the ones insane.
It's depressing to me, to look around at the people flung in here, knowing that they are so far past gone, but still forced to stay alive so mental procedures could be done on them. Innocent people, just born with a different mind and a different view on life, skewed into oblivion by society.
My home is 'B Block,' third floor on the East Wing. If I was mentally retarded would I have remembered that? Take notes doctors, take notes. Take notes on what a true grade a human with a normal mind looks like. Take notes on how to tell if a person really is mentally troubled or just a little bit crazy because of the things that have happened in their past.
"Sometimes, you just gotta let it go." Rj, a kid like me. The only difference is he was standing right beside his parents when they were brutally murdered, each stabbed more than 30 times. His response, throw some chloroform on their faces, drag them to his basement, and tortured them for two weeks straight. By the time police found him, both of their corpses have been completely skinned, with quadruplet amputees on both.
"How am I supposed to just let it go when they're keeping us trapped in here like god damned birds in a cage?" I retorted, staring up at the cracked ceiling of white, a single dull lightbulb making the room even brighter. But no, they're trying to find out why we're crazy but we reside in rooms that do so more than the drugs they inject us with.
"Think of it this way," he said, shuffling around beneath me doing who knows what, "What if they're keeping us in here not to protect the people out there from us, but protecting us from ourselves?"
I looked down, seeing his arm dangling off the edge of his bed. "I mean you know what I did to those two guys. Who knows what I'll do to myself." He's got a point. A terrible point, but it's a point.
The door slammed open out of nowhere, making the both of us jump as the loud metal clang rang in our ears. Examinations. My favorite part of the day.
I jumped down, following Rj out into the hallway, where all the other inmates were already lined up. Doctors on all ends were walking down with clipboards, making sure no one is missing or killed themselves this morning. Our doctor walks up as usual, white coat as usual, white pants as usual, white mask as usual. The only way I know the doctor's a girl is because of her voice. If she didn't speak, I'd have guessed she's a possessed body owned by the soul of a demon. I mean she seems nice enough, she treats us well and doesn't insult us, but the mask that she wears, as well as everyone else wears, gives me this slight to murderous tingle of hatred itching in the back of my chest, wanting to take control and murder them all.
