The day the world went away...

Once upon a time I used to write in my bok of lies I called it. Until I got caught and then it was a pack of truths that others wanted to use agaiinst me in the court system. Of course this is a story of another time and I have lots of that at the momet.

I have been finally able to be free from my small cubical we calll them here, not cells as you would see fit to call them in the "real" world I guess. What does that mean? The real world, is that the place outside of this existance of where I'm at in this particular moment? Or is it the place where you exist far away from me and my friends or patrons or what have you. I think the real world exists no matter where you are, whether you're stuck in your head like some of us here or have a nine to fve job. That's the world we live in- yes I know that you say. But the day the world ended for me, my reality which exists now among these cold walls and the membranes of my mind are very different.

My book of lies or truths set me free in ways that I can't even imagine. My doctor says I'm delusional and an obsessive voyuer...ha haa I like that..uses basic text book terms that are for the mundane and ignorant. "Patrick we find tha you can not be released to society at the moment." hat does that mean? Is it because of what I wrote in my book? Is is these things I have done, I witnessed that "sane" people would not and could not even dream of having done.

I can read lips to some degree, it's a talent that I have grown to enjoy using since most of my days are spent in isolation. Although I'm not a big talker of sorts I watch others ramble along their merry way into rediculous conversations about nothing. Blow hearts I call them among other things and when I stare out my eight and a half inch by twelve inch wire meshed thickened glass window on my door, I need to see conversations being said. They sometimes don't ven notice me there though I see their glances my way, I feel they're just playing with my by using terms like, "psychotic or psycopathic or even premeditated." Terms in which I don't know if they think this is what I am or they're talking about Stephen next door. He's a mess that poor bastard. Last night at two thirty and forty five secnds after the hour I was lying in my bunk, the silence was extraordinary. Of course broken by this asshole of a neighbor, he wouldn't stop screaming, I don't know why, but this carried on for many minutes. If I was to guess I would have to say at least twelve as a rough ball park.

Finally Earl and Matt came, they are the two orderlies or nurses or thugs what have you to subdue poor Stephen. I think he was having a nightmare, I know I dream, I don't belive in nightmares.

My time is almost up so I have to go for now. Dr. Lee is kind enough to let me start a blog. I think he thinks it will help me get better if Ic an write to you out there.