Whiter than the devil

Abstract

The voices in my head tell me that I’m a bad person. They tell me I’ve done bad things. Bad things to good people. They say I’m stupid and crazy. That I’m not good enough to be outside with the rest of the world. Well… they may be right. I don't know what I’m doing and I don't know what I’m saying. But I’m bad. I know that. They told me. The voices. They told me I’m bad, so I know I’m bad. I need to get them out. Just make them go away. The voices. They drive me insane. Always talking, talking, talking. They make me SCREAM! ‘I’ve been in this cage for too long. This cage of steel and concrete and wood and rust. It's all rust. It's been rusting for years now, just like me. I've been rusting for years too. The voices have made me rust. They've made me doubt myself. I think that I’m crazy. But it's just the voices. But I’m the voices. Am I the voices? Are the voices me? Do they control me, or do I control them? No, I don't control them. They control them. The bad men. The ones who wear white. White is the devil's colour. They're worse than the devil. At least the devil wouldn't lock me in here and beat me over and over and over and over again. That's what they do. They’ve locked me in my own mind. And now I'll never escape. [excerpt]