I've lived here for years In this horrid place. If I wasn't crazy before, being hear sure did it. I can't stop laughing. Everything is a mess all my senses are like jelly. The noises are gobbled and my vision is distorted and funny. I've lived with this since I was thirteen. I was scared but learned to except it. Over time it was funny, hallucinogenic. Everyone new. I couldn't walk straight or reply properly. Everyone thought I was on drugs.

But every once in a while I cry. I cry and scream, wail until every mussel in my body is throbbing and tired out, till my bones are shaking and seem to stop working, my body is covered and crusted with tears and blood. I don't know why it happens no one does.

I can't even tell how I do it. I hurt myself, I hurt myself bad. I scratch my face and arms till I bleed. My knees get cut from me falling over, I break my own bones using my hands. I have even a hole in my cheek from me biting through it. The entire time I am in excruciating pain. When I can't stop laughing is when it happens.

I called this place the fun house because every day they would surround me in bright colors and loud noises. This made my mind go ecstatic. I knew what it was I could mentally process it but I could never control myself. Though, I began to hate it because I got progressively worse. They figured out what triggered me the most. The most illogical thing, the one thing that you think would make me calm down, but it did the opposite. A pitch black room with nothing but white noise. I seemed to grasp for something to see, something to hear. I went insane. The most horrific and distorted noises and images were made from the darkness. I could see or hear nothing if I was normal but my mind used my imagination against me.

This is when I would hurt myself. Black is the absence of all light. So instead of distorting my surroundings it distorted my imagination. I didn't have much of the world memorized, all I had was the little bit I could grasp from my childhood. I had a fun filled childhood of movies, sweets, and carnivals. My whole world was colorful. Thats wat noises and images were distorted. It wasn't colors that were the worst, no, it was the shapes, the more extravagant and in recognizable the worst it was.

I cant hurt myself now. This 'Fun House', this asylum is cruel. They locked me up. They put me in a strait-jacket, and chained me to the floor. I have a blind fold over my eyes in a black, padded room. White noise is coming from white speakers in every corner of the room.

I'm stuck struggling and in a pain worse than what any medieval torcher devise could accomplish. I cant hurt myself but oh how I wish I could. Everything in me is broken. Even through the pain I can't stop laughing.

I CAN'T STOP LAUGHING