The world was crumbling. Or maybe it was falling. Or maybe I was falling. I'm not sure. All I remember is the confusion. Confusion so thick that it could be seen from a mile away. And apparently others saw it too. That was my first trip to the ward, and it's all been a downhill spiral from there.

I'm not alright. I know that. Why else would I still take my medication? It's not that I don't know I'm crazy, it's just that sometimes I get these weird thoughts that aren't mine. I've been in and out of a psychiatric ward a million times in the last few years.

It's not been all that bad. The doctors are kind and my family is supportive. But I know I can't stay like this. The pain grips me, reality is getting more distant from me with each passing sunset, and my sanity is slipping. Slowly, slowly, so much that by the time I get too far to save, no one may even notice the difference.