Tell me that you don’t take that blade and drag it across your skin and pray for the courage to press down.

When I was supposed to be awake, I was asleep. When I was supposed to sleep, I was silent. When a pleasure offered itself to me, I avoided it.

Don’t ask me those questions! Don’t ask me what life means or how we know reality or why we have to suffer so much. Don’t talk about how nothing feels real, how everything is coated with gelatin and shining like oil in the sun. I don’t want to hear about the tiger in the corner or the Angel of Death or the phone calls from John the Baptist.

Emptiness and boredom: what a complete understatement. What I felt was complete desolation. Desolation, despair and boredom.

It was my misfortune-or salvation-to be at all times perfectly conscious of my misperceptions of reality.

For many of us, the hospital was as much a refuge as it was a prison. Though we were cut off from the world and all the trouble we enjoyed stirring up out there, we were also cut off from the demands and expectations that had driven us crazy. What could be expected of us now that we were stowed away in a loony bin?

When you’re sad you need to hear your sorrow structured into sound.