"Everyone is crazy, some just more than others."
After spending years in a mental asylum, a group of patients make a plan to escape. After their escape, they soon learn that life outside isn't as magical as they had expected it to be.
With police af...
There are all sorts of mental hospitals from what I've heard. Some, surprisingly enough, don't actually lock people up in those creepy windowless rooms and leave them there with no contact with the outside world. At least that's what some people say. My experience however, that's a whole different story.
You know, when humans get scared, they'll go to great lengths to keep themselves safe and far away from any danger. And that's why they've dumped us in this building. To them, we're just a threat to their so-called perfect world. We're the unrequited, the unwanted trash they're ready to toss away. They believe we'll only taint the beauty of the world they live in.
Three is such a beautiful number don't you think.
One. Two. Three.
One. Two. Three.
Man, this number seems to pop up everywhere in our world, and it's one that I personally feel connected to. Not the most cheerful connection, I must admit. Take this place I'm stuck in, for instance - a three-floor building full of all sorts of madness. I've got to hand it to them, though; they've set up a pretty organized system here, which I can somewhat appreciate.
But you know what really gets me? They just love putting us patients into little boxes, slapping labels on us like it's no big deal. It's their way of dealing with us, I guess. Easier for them to classify us than to bother learning our stories.
Floor one; the ones who have a mild chance of leaving.
Floor two; the ones they consider stable enough not to pose an immediate threat. So, they're not trying to kill you right then and there, which is something, I guess.
Floor three; the ones they warn you about. If you ever come across them, just turn around and run, my friend. It's not going to end well otherwise.
None of us want to be in here and it isn't our fault we turned out this way. Maybe our flaws aren't even that serious as they tell us they are. But being in this place messes with your mind and sense of self, and it's like you lose control over who you are. In here, you become hyper-aware of others around you, and even of yourself. It's like you're constantly on guard. The doctors, they keep insisting that we need fixing, which makes us question ourselves even more. If they're all saying something's wrong, then there must be, right? It's hard not to believe them after a while.
We didn't ask for any of this. We all want to leave, if only it was that easy though. Maybe it is. It's not like a lot of people are trying. And who can blame them with those intimidating guards that patrol every night with tasers strapped to their belt. And the rumors going around aren't helping either. Word says that the last patient that tried to escape had their throat slashed and the body was dumped somewhere in the forest.
We reached out for help, but all we got was a name slapped in our faces.
Crazy
They like to call us that. You know, the people who don't live in this hospital. The ones who have a normal life, without continuous controls and visits to the therapist and staring at a blank wall for hours on end. The ones that live outside of the metal gates. The ones that don't have to endure the pain of being away from the people we love.
Even Before I ended up locked up in this place, I'd never known anything other than this small, wicked town. There are some patients that have come from other places and they talk about all the amazing things they have seen and done. I want to do those things too. I want to get out of here.
Someone please get me out of here!
But, I know no one will come. If anyone cared, they would have gotten me out already. Now here is the real question. Could it be that we are actually crazy?
Maybe. But aren't we all a little insane?
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