Family

Once I was out, I didn’t really know what to do with myself. After I spent as long as I can remember being ordered around, and treated like a fucking lab rat, I forgot what it was like to look around not being drunk on prescriptions. Not being confined in a room for eons. Not sitting in front of a TV with the same damn shows on repeat for weeks with the same damn people drooling, and ogling, and plotting, and dying. No one’s mind was free. Hell, no one was free. And now that I am free, I don’t even know what the hell to do. But, hey, that’s what a fucked up routine like that will do to you. Ruin you. Make you forget you’re a human being, or you even exist. And when you do, when you do remember, you are usually wishing you were dead. Because God knows any torment in that place is far worse than death or hell, or any of that.

So you’re usually trying to find some way to die. Any way to die, just a way to escape. Overdosing, poisoning, god, anything. But they figure it out. They figure you out. Because they know you, and they know your thoughts. But sometimes that’s a little hard to remember. So, you will try and hang yourself or stab yourself. But it never works. It never fucking works. They’re there watching you. They’re always fucking watching you. And when you finally realize that little fact, and don’t forget it. Well. Then, well then, they become like family. Family that is always watching over you, like a normal family would. A family that would never want you to hurt yourself. So you get used to it, because your family always knows best. They always know what’s best for you. And that’s why I came back here, to my family.