What Even Is This Chapter Really?

Okay, I'm sorry for the delay. I have had little spare time, I'm doing really badly in all my tests but Les Misérables show is tomorrow until Friday, I will have soo much more spare time after that. I used to come home every night and this was my relaxation time and I loved it, but now I barely have had time for that.

This really isn't great; I wrote practically all of it just there now. I just know how easy it is to get out of reading a story if the author takes ages to update, so I wanted to give you something, and I can edit it later. Thanks :)

It's so strange to think about the fact that I have a mental illness. There is something wrong with me.

It can be very easy to see other people go through it, feel sorry for them, or even worse- label them for it. But it's not you, it's me. So weird.

I hate the idea of having a mental illness, No-one understands it because it's difficult to understand unless you've experienced it. The irrational thoughts or, hallucinations. You just seem mad to other people. They understand there's something wrong and appreciate that, but can't wrap their heads around what it actually feels like.

And all the stigma attached to it is even worse, I don't even want to go into that cause it's so irritating and I know it's affected you before.

The problem is that you don't know how I feel. That's why I try, I'm trying to give you an idea because I know it's affected you. You know there's something wrong and we can't do anything about it. That's it. That's what we have to deal with in life, and hopefully this will be a source of some comfort or I don't even know what I keep on talking about this trying to help you, but I really don't know how to. I'm such a crap person.

Just to help you feel better (or maybe myself, I don't know), I incorporated a list of celebrities with mental illnesses. I assume you don't have one and I hope to God you never will, but even if this makes you feel more okay about me having one.

Mel Gibson is a manic depressive

Catherine Zeta Jones has Bipolar 2 disorder

Brooke Shields had Postpartum depression.

John Nash has Paranoid schizophrenia

Carrie Fisher, also been diagnosed with Bipolar disorder

The chef, Paula Deen has Panic attacks and agoraphobia (anxiety disorder in crowded or open places)

Elton John was once battling against bulimia

Pete Wenz almost lost his life to Bipolar disorder (Listen to Fall Out Boy's 7 Minutes In Heaven

One of my all-time favourite comedians; David Walliams also has Bipolar disorder and also suffered insomnia for a long period of time

So I guess it's not just me, and it's not just you either having to deal with me. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be depressing haha! Just some aspects of reality aren't as nice. But they make you appreciate the ones that are, and if we never got challenged then I guess we wouldn't ever have any goals.

Okay; I'll shut up. Here's what happened next.

I had to leave the doctor's office. Go out. LALALALALALA lalalalalalaalalaala etc, things like that; you get the point, same as usual- voices in my head.

"Do you think there'll be anywhere he can go?" voiced the concern. I mean my girlfriend.

"I'll look for somewhere now," he explained, rushing his words out of his mouth like they were hands trying to push us out of the hole in the wall (door).

"Okay…" voiced Moo, and I doubted that she was being genuine. I still felt like hitting my head against the wall. I could just see it, I wanted to get rid of it, all the pain. The constant noise. What was it like without it? Imagine not having it….So strange. But I want it to go. Nobody understands how much, I feel like I would do anything, almost.

We moved. I felt more pain but also an overwhelming feeling of comfort as my head moved back and forth through the air, touching the white plane of the wall for only a matter of seconds before reversing into nothing. I didn't know how hard I was going with the whole head-banging things but my arms were grabbed in an attempt to remove the control from me. I wanted it back! It felt better. Not for my head, but my nerves. This whole situation was making me nervous.

My feet and arms were then pulled back by rough hands and rough gentle ones that made me feel uneasy. My face was warm and flustered, and there was a lot of noises I couldn't separate.

That was it. This is it.

I've truly gone mad. I feel crazy, I feel like going crazy, and it hurts.

The phone rang and it hurt. My eyes were closed as I tried to sort out my confused head. It felt like being cripplingly stressed for a prolonged period. The world was black and all I knew was what my sensory neurones told me and what I heard. The noise in my head was blurred with what wasn't in my head.

Someone put their hand up to my face and started rubbing it and that was the only thing right noe that felt okay.

Stuff happened, (what I have no flipping clue) and I was in a car with one person beside me. It was a small blue car, and the engine was a low murmur. A few people were talking, some loudly others in hushed tones, trying to avoid my ears, but I wasn't paying attention to what they were saying. I was listening to a negative voice that has been growing like a mental tumour in my mind.

The car sped along quite steadily on a rode that went from smooth to bumpy, back to smooth again. The traffic, I assumed, caused a problem as we slowed down a lot near the end, and the voices were louder and more desperate. I thought we were still stuck in a traffic jam but no: time to come out.

Hospitals were like a dream and a nightmare to me. Dream because of the elimination of disease. A horrible nightmare because of the prevelance of it, especially catchy ones. But I'm here now, and it#s pretty much neutral, except for the fact that I liked staying still as things were easier to deal with sitting down.

My arms and legs weren't mine as I was forced to move under the roof of the building that contained so many possibilities of contamination its crazy. I wanted to go. But I wanted to leave five seconds ago in the car so I don't really know how that would help.

Whenever I was it was light and there was a lot of noise and bright lights. I noticed someone had blood dripping down their face but it was okay because it's not spreadable. There were a lot of doctors rushing, some of them were paramedics rushing in with someone. I knew it was accident and emergency. Which one am I?

I sat, someone's hand around mine sitting on my lap. So warm and pointless. I was too distracted with my mind and my surroundings.

Just waiting for I don't know what. But for this to go away.

My name sounded. I was pulled up and I complied, not knowing what else to do or having the energy to revolt. A flood of rushed syllables and descriptions flooded out of a woman's mouth, not in the soft, sweet way they were usually uttered. I hate this.

I want to go.

I had to go.

My body was repositioned away. Away from the warm hands and the caring voices that I recognised and I guess I wanted though it was hard to tell until they left.

I had to go.

So; I left.