DAY 1
I'm sat in a mental hospital feeling
stressed. Minimal voices for nearly a week now, so starting to feel like a
normal human being again. On a good day, I hear less than a dozen audible
suicide command prompts, in and around my head. I hear them as clearly as I
would hear your voice. There's a big difference between hearing voices and
feeling depressed, you know. Feeling down in the dumps in a general sense is
what I would call depression, reflected from gambling debts, divorce,
redundancy, car repairs and the like, but hearing voices is oppression. They obliterate
your natural thought processes. It's like having an evil Siasmese twin who can read
your mind and delights in taking pleasure from tormenting your soul from the
inside out.
Being surrounded by genuinely mentally-ill
people in a controlled environment when one is nothing but the unwitting victim
of psychotronics is in itself a kind of mild torture. I've been harassed,
hounded and humiliated from pillar to post. I've been kept awake and running
scared on the streets for nights on end, countless times. In the height of my
induced delirium, I escaped from one hospital and broke into another. I've
been put through unimaginable mental suffering. And for what? Why? What was my
crime? Oh yeah, I forgot — being sat at home. All I ever did was sit at home.
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