***
I was walking aimlessly,
when, all of a sudden, a flow of ideas seized me.
I thought it only fair to share them—
I was expecting to receive their thoughts on my flow of ideas.
***
Thoughts they called different from the norm.
They whispered among themselves for a while,
then told me what they thought of my thoughts—
or rather, forced their thoughts onto mine.
Their verdict held me captive,
a prison built for people who think differently,
who see differently,
who express anger, worry, and grief in different ways.
***
They held a meeting, compared notes, studied our difference,
and announced the cure!
“Let’s label them!”, they said.
“You, over there—schizophrenic.
And you—bipolar.
Don’t think we forgot you—anxious as hell.”
They built a facility for the different.
***
One day I entered—
or rather, was admitted by force.
They stripped me of my belongings,
strapped me to a bed,
injected me with God‑knows‑what,
and sleep swallowed me whole.
I woke to a hall filled with others,
who’d felt that same rush of ideas,
who chose to express them in their own way.
***
“You are crazy,” they said.
“We’ll keep you here until you become normal.”
Then the truth struck:
we were normal—
and the ones outside, captive to their own ideas,
were the crazy ones.
In time, the prison almost felt pleasant.
I kept returning—sometimes dragged,
sometimes walking through the front door—
just for the chance to meet the truly normal,
to talk like humans,
and laugh together at the real crazy people
waiting outside.
***
*Writing is where my heart has chosen to stay. If these letters have kept you company, you’re welcome to help keep the ink flowing — one quiet coffee at a time.
This is so vulnerable and real! I’m glad you were able to survive. There is a thin line between creativity and madness!
This text humanises madness as difference, showing how society punishes what it cannot understand.
The narrator’s “flow of ideas” becomes a crime, judged by those who fear imagination and grief.
Labels like schizophrenic or bipolar are revealed as cages, stripping dignity instead of offering care.
The forced admission, sedation, and loss of belongings humanise the violence of silencing inner voices.
Yet within confinement, solidarity blooms others who share the same rush of thought and feeling.
In that communion, the so‑called “crazy” discover their own humanity, laughter becoming resistance.
The irony is piercing: those outside, captive to rigid illusions, are the truly imprisoned.
The story humanises madness as a mirror, exposing society’s fear of vulnerability and difference.
Connection inside the “facility” becomes a sanctuary, where stigma dissolves into shared presence.
Ultimately, it insists that true sanity lies not in conformity but in compassion and communion.