Insane… that’s what they call me… I never had a actual name. When I was a boy, it was stupid. Everyone called me it… neighborhood kids, playground children, even my own parents. Middle school, I was the “loner” wasn’t accepted by any clique, group, or squad. I usually spent my time writing poetry and writing rather… disturbing pictures. In high school I was a freak. The kind of person who wore black, wouldn’t speak a single word to anyone and loved dissecting just a little too much. College, I graduated into a cultist. I was never in a cult… people just loved to make up rumors. Now… I’m insane… I’ve only upgraded through mental illnesses my life. They keep me locked away from the outside world… in these nice, padded walls and floor. I’ve tried to hang myself countless times, but this damn straight jacket prevents me from doing anything to end this misery. This is my journal… my one friend… my only companion… the one object keeping me from committing mental suicide… God help me…