"I'm not hurting myself. I do this all the time."
"You are not allowed to harm yourself."
"I'm not harming myself. It's a complex motor tick."
"No, it's not."
"Well I like doing it, and I'm going to keep doing it."
"If you don't stop, we will be forced to put the restraining jacket on you."
So they put me in a straight jacket.
Sorry I'm crazy. Not half as sorry as me. Your brain is in a loop of damaging itself. Brain: stop damaging yourself. Different kinds of damage. Anger, sadness. Still, damage is damage.
Picking, The Seven Pillars of Picritution, Advanced Picrionics, IAP(Instrument Assisted Picritution,) Olympic Picathlon, the picritude of it all.
Nobody says, "I want to be mentally ill when I grow up." Nobody wants their daughter to marry a guy with mental illness. Don't listen. Depressed. Pay no attention to the ravings of a lunatic.
I'm happy with the simple things. Clouds make me happy. Try to help people. Make a positive influence on society. It's just I hate people so much. Go about their lives so happy, don't care about the poor. Chug beer and yell, when a goal is scored.
Part of me is jealous, and part is glad I'm not like them. They're so happy to pay extra just to be away from the lower class. They give their kids all the advantages over the poor kids. They live behind gates, just to keep the poor from stuff they don't need or appreciate. If you can't tell your family what you did for the money, then it's blood money. Explain how everything was perfectly legal, and we have the best system in the world. Explain why everyone went along with it. Favors for your co-conspirators won't count for much.
I'm no better. Don't want to hate; want to love.
After about five minutes the guy says, "If we let you out, can you control yourself?"
"Yes."
In the room next to mine is a young guy, tall and skinny. He always has a grin on his face. He washes his hands, takes seven paces away from the sink, then circle back, and washes them again, all day long. His arms are red to the elbows. Each time he throws a brown paper towel into the trash. His room is full of discarded towels.
I can recognize similar tendencies in myself, but not to such an extreme. That's why they put us together. We're both OCD cases. I'm as compulsive as he is, just in a different form. This is what my life has become. I'm a mental patient. I'm locked in a lunatic asylum.