The system made me a killer

Why do I love the white noise from my A/C, which just hums consistently from a vent in the ceiling? They told me it's too late to hallucinate that the meds are strong enough to hold the ailment at bay. Ha! They think they can change me. It's insane to even think about.

My dosages are higher than the target bill after you let your girl have your card. Just put that in your mind. Can you make that rotate with 180mg of some anti psychotic on top of a bit, just a few extra mg of some other pill for anxiety, don't worry about the Benzos, just take them like prescribed, and you won't get addicted. What the hell. Does that make sense to you?

The white noise of the raindrops against my window as they ding against the glass, making a static that the inner me needs more now than ever. All I have to do is breathe, that's what I'm told, pop a couple pills, and meditate on my high until my mind is balanced back like it's supposed to be.

Now they add extra mgs of an antidepressant on top of my sundae of differently colored round pills, just a handful morning and night. I guess I’ve never felt the feeling of sanity as long as I lived for the abuse I endured through my life, but now I'm supposed to be better, fixed, healed by the system that just wants to put me on more and more drugs.

I've been feeling itchy lately, with my new meds coursing through my bloodstream. I think I'm tired as the benzos take off my high of an anxiety attack, but now I can't function, just a dead corpse sitting on the couch, hoping to make it to my bed to actually fall asleep and not stay mounted to my current living room furnishing.

I haven’t left the house in days. Apparently, I have agoraphobia on top of my PTSD and depression. The carnival ride just keeps going round and round as I try to keep the nausea down from my antidepressant, which makes me throw up every morning.

I'm supposed to be better, but my mind is full of unease as I try not to panic, and I just try to breathe. Ha! I feel like I'm crazy before the morning meds. I can feel the deep depression, I can feel the harsh targeted lesson that envelops my mind when I feel like I've done everything wrong. Am I supposed to feel this anxious, or am I supposed to feel this dumb?

I'm out of my wits on these benzos, and I promise I've taken them as prescribed, but all it does is make me tired, for they don't kick in until after my emotionally draining mental attack, which seizes hold of my body and makes my brain go frantic with clicks and chimes, and then I relax, and then the benzos kick in to consume my mind.

They change my meds again, like how I'm getting fed again with more therapeutic lies of challenging worksheets and verbally speaking my abuse out loud. Is this really going to fix it, or have I just driven myself further into my PTSD that now the abuse is all I think about? But therapy is supposed to help. Right?

I feel like every two steps forward throws me three steps back as I try to manage the insanity, as I try to fight it back. I spoke to some people today, god i want them dead. But I have no reason for the hate or the violent urge to take the form of a neanderthal and beat the sense out of my enemy with a club. Everything is fine, though I think things are really balancing out.

I tried to drive somewhere today, what a big hurray, as I dissociated on the interstate and almost caused a three-car pile up, but that’s okay, my doctor just tells me to stay inside and not go over my limits while at the same time trying to cure my agoraphobia. Tell me how this works because I'm lost as hell.

I saw a man outside my window today. He was tall and lanky, just a bit undersized, enough for me to take him out and drag him into my garage. Stop. What are you doing? What are these meds making my mind out to be? Is the system always right? Isn’t it? I'm just supposed to follow the rules and do as they say.

I have a sudden fascination with gnomes as my personality swiftly changes again, as I take the form of my depression and wear all black and stay bleakly around my house, mourning the times of my manic rides that used to make me feel invincible.

I think the gnomes are alive and have been inside my house. I can't tell you how I know, and I don't have any evidence, but I can feel their beady eyes as they peek around corners to watch me until I fall asleep, to then plan a murder before the sun rises for another day. I have to stay awake. I can't let the gnomes get me.

Added more meds today, Ambien was the choice of drug as my doctor evaluated my insomnia and frantic thoughts that my gnomes were out to get me. He upped my anti psychotic past the limit it's supposed to go, leaving me at 180mg and two extra pills to take for mood, one in the morning and one at night.

Everything is a fight, but at least I've stopped throwing up. I talk to myself more often and make plans for violent takeovers and dead bodies on my floor. Then I cry, and I mourn for the monster that I've been turned into, for how can I dream about hurting someone else just for pleasure, just for fun?

My meds are really working; I've stopped seeing the gnomes after I got rid of them all, as my doctor told me to do, but I know a couple still lurk around and steal my shit. Things just go missing, as do chunks of my time, when I fall asleep on the sleeping medication supposed to help me sleep better; instead, I wake up not knowing and do odd things around my apartment.

I woke up to myself stabbing a pillow with a kitchen knife. Things have gone too far, and my doctor doesn't speak to me for another three months to talk about my medication. If I stop taking the sleeping meds, then my insomnia rocks my world until I'm driving myself crazy, but if I keep taking the pill, then things happen at night that I am not aware of as my mind takes over and my body stays in slumber.

I woke up outside my house on a street three blocks away from my apartment, wearing nothing but my undergarments and a hat. Why I have a hat and no shoes is beyond me. I've decided to stop taking my pills to see what happens.

I haven’t slept, I haven’t eaten, I’ve barely been able to keep myself alive as my apartment is violently torn apart, and my isolation has lasted at least a month. I try to do my work from home now, but it's hard to focus with all the voices talking in my ear at once, as if I can focus and hear what each of them is saying as they babble on about things that range from morality to impulsive rage.

I'm back on my meds after losing my shit in a Walmart and having to be held in the psych ward for a few days. My doctor was unaware I had been off my meds since my appointment with him is still a month away. I have an obligation now to go to therapy meetings at some church in the basement with people who are there to just complain about their problems. I don't need to talk. I need to be numb.

They have put me on twice as many drugs as before, and I have a mental health specialist call me every week to make sure I'm alive and well. I've taken every phone call with ease, so I think my meds are really working this time. Maybe I was wrong about the system, and it is actually trying to help me.

I overdosed today on my 350mg antidepressant by taking it twice, and when I say I've never felt true insanity until that day, I really mean it. There were people in my body, and they all tried to talk and take over as I begged out loud to no one to believe me, even though I was the true one speaking. Ended up back in the psych ward, but no big deal, they just told me not to do that again.

I can't tell you a lot about the dreams I've been having while walking all around my apartment at night, while the Ambien takes me on rides that I don't remember going on. Murder. Blood lust. Furry. There are a few words to describe what I've been dreaming about, I told my doctor, and he just gave me more pills.

I feel true insanity when I'm off my meds, but when I'm on my meds, they bring me a new insanity that makes me violent and a danger at random times, which pulses to come out with every breath I take. How long can I keep myself at bay before I do something really stupid?

I sleep clothed now due to all the sleep walking, which I've tried to quit the meds, but staying awake for days at a time is worse than actually getting some rest, just not remembering doing anything while you sleep. I think it's the meds taking over. I think the system wants me to break so they can finally put a tight vice on my life. How do I keep them from getting me if they are already half of my livelihood with a psychiatrist and therapists for so many days out of the week? Tell me again how speaking your most lustful, intemperate thoughts is supposed to help you get better?

I think they want to make me worse as they have switched up my meds again, as another practice to see what happens when certain drugs are ingested into a sick mind. I am their guinea pig, and I've just now realized it as some of my drugs make me overly self-aware of everything filed in my brain as if I've come to terms with all the damage.

But that's not true; that's only a false sense of security that will only end with me taking more prescribed medication. They are talking about a ketamine treatment, now as a doctor in a doctors office along with a nurse will dose me and spray the ketamine up my nose. This is really supposed to work this time. It’s really supposed to make a difference. Truth be told, I am on so many high-dosage medications that nothing was really going to make a difference by now.

I haven’t heard back from the office with the nasal ketamine program, and being on so many meds is making my brain itch again, and I can't scratch it no matter how hard I try. Group therapy is a joke, as I hear people cry over things in their life as if they need pity. I've been sleepwalking again, and tonight I found myself outside someone's window, and when I peeked in, I realized it was a couple sleeping soundly in their bed.

The thought came to me at lightning speed as I considered breaking into their house and acting out my violent urges. I was so close. My hand was on the doorknob. Stop. Go home and drink some coffee. I'll be fine as long as I don't go back to sleep anymore. So I welcome back my days of insomnia as nights pass me by like a blur and hallucinations start making me lose my mind, no matter how many drugs I was on.

I'm back on the sleep meds, and when I woke up in the middle of the night, I was in someone’s bedroom with a knife in my hand. I had to quietly leave with the knife in tow so that my fingerprints wouldn't be involved any further with the crime that only I know happened. My desperation has left me, as I only feel a lack of control and depression for having no power over what my mind wants me to do.

I woke up covered in blood with a couple in their bed, brutally wounded and no longer breathing. I panicked, and all I knew to do was clean up the best I could and get the hell out of there before I'm a prime suspect in this murder case that will open no doubt by tomorrow when this couple is reported missing from their daily routine and possibly found out earlier than that by their sleeping children in the rooms down the hall.

My murder is all over the news, and I think investigators are closing in on me. I'm so paranoid I'm back to barricading myself in my house again. I'm afraid to sleep, and I'm petrified to stay awake. I don't know what to do. I don't talk to my doctor again for a couple of months. I'm not going to the hospital only to be put on the mental health floor again. I'm just going to lie low and hope I did a good enough job at the murder site to hide my DNA.

It’s been three months, and the case goes on as the police have lost all leads. I still feel a great paranoia, but also a rush of adrenaline for getting away with murder. Could I do it again? Will I get caught? What is going to happen to me next when I am forced to sleep by that medication?

I've done it again, and this time I was caught. I am in handcuffs now and found to be mentally unstable to stand in court, so I'm being sent off to a psychiatric hospital where I will live full-time and take even more meds than before. The system got me, and now I'm in it for who knows how long, as they are the ones who made my brain deranged, and it was they who sent me away to live my life out in their state institution that gets paid for every extra patient that gets confined within their walls. For I am still the government's guinea pig as they prod and poke me in every which way they want because I am now owned by them.