This Place Is A Prison

A mildly long stream of consciousness that couldn't be considered a short story but also couldn't be considered a story or a rant at all.

As I sit i my gov class, I begin to get that feeling; my stomach drops, my shoulders tense, my mind races, my chest tightens, and I need to get out. I realized I'm always somewhere in between success and complete lack of control. I start to make a list;things I need to do, things I'll forget to do, and things I'll never do. Lists. All different kinds; to do, to buy, paintings to be made, stories to be written, things I want, things that would make me truly happy, also known as things I'll never get around to. Lists. Held onto like a f*****g bible. I wonder if I can handle all of this, I wonder if I should really just check myself in, if it would be helpful to just check out of the real world for a few days. I hear a wailing scream in the hallway, one unusual to Norrix, not one of the average "inner city ghetto" student searching for the attention they lack at home. A cry with a deeper feeling, one of pain. I imagine the girl restrained by men in white coats. She's upset because they uped her dosages of meds, replacing the uppers, in hopes she'd stop snorting them to get high. And she thought she was so close to checking out....

I snap back to class and realize my imagination had gotten the best of me. There are no men in white coats here, only figure heads in ill fitting black suits. However, there aren't that many differences between the two establishments; both have a structured day,unhappy attendants motioning through their days, occasional chaos, an air of corruption, getting more money the longer we stay, and a general disregard for authority. Damn, we're all in a loony bin already, except it's not doing s**t for us. Though in reality, you could make an argument that, that's really just another similarity.

This anxiety is getting to be too much. I'd taken on things I that were only making me miserable. I thought being busy would cure the void I'd been left with, but it just substituted one poisoning emotion with another. At least when I was lazy and I had too much time with my own thoughts, I was constantly inspired to write and paint. Now this stream of consciousness is the most creative I get in a month. The only things that keep me sane are the weekends and occasional days where I have no homework and I can light up. That s**t should be on prescription. It's the only thing that can clear your mind for a short period of time. It turns off the air conditioner blowing recycled air, recycled emotions, polluting the room in your mind. It opens all the windows and doors, allowing the old air to escape and letting in fresh natural air. Getting trashed and music, it's the only s**t keeping me sane any more.

I am the prisoner opposing a break from Platos Cave. I am the poster child for ignorance is bliss. I am the obedient student with the teachings of racism disguised as "sociology" shoved down my throat, teaching me what to hate about myself and my surroundings, and telling me where I ought to be. F**k where I ought to be. F**k rising to my full potential. F**k due dates, assignments, college, healthy relationships and eating right. And f**k all of the anxiety it leads me to. If I want to live with out a roof over my head for a year after high school instead of going to college, so be it. If I want to f**k around and not get attached, I'll do it. If I want to drink and smoke and be happy while I'll do so, it's my path of choice, and no facts will stop me. What is there to live for, if not to have fun?

The bell rings. It's math next. I look at my class mates and wonder what they've been focusing on for the past 20 minuets. As they walk by, I see the deeper issues within all of them. I am only further reminded of the similes, how similar this is to the hospitals. After all, "We're all mad here", are we not?

© 2009 madimonstermassh

Author's Note

I didn't really know exactly what genre this would go in.
Also, I've been typing these up on notepad, so anything misspelled or incorrect, I appologize for.