Well, I was slightly on the border of needing a straitjacket. In the padded room. I was still crazy from the fall, months after it. I would sometimes break out in laughter for absolutely no reason. And when I was silent for a while and my therapist asked why, I just glared at him for a moment and asked, "well, would you ever plan murder out loud?". And after that, back to the Fluff Room. I had short-term memory loss, for quite a diddly of time. I forgot everything I was told in a matter of a few hours. If I was told when lunch would be, after eating breakfast, and it was about 3 hours away, I would forget. I was happy that I forgot a lot of things, because if someone yelled at me, only in hours would I forget. It was a blessing and a curse. When people somewhat insulted me, I just punched 'em. They would crack them knuckles, ready to give me a sandwich of 'em, but I was wise enough to run like hell. Hell. People also said I should go there, 'cause I killed I person in the community by accident. That was Josh, my closest friend. We was playin' and I pushed him down to the ground by accident. He lost all the blood from his head before he could get help. That's why I have a padded room that is ENORMOUS. So big you could fit a blue whale or two and still have room to move 'round.
So I was sorta lucky.
People always wonder what it's like, livin' in a padded cell, only getting out for 20 minutes at a time, to eat. Not being allowed to love at all. Just imagine that. Now, I do not mind one bit that I don't got the freedom I used to have.
Not.
One.
Bit.
But sane people, oh, no. If they don't have freedom, they'll act as though the end is near.
Kinda like for me, age 28.
