Anyone's My Asylum. Guess My Head's Still Sick.

I’m losing it.
I truly think I am insane.
Nobody else can see it though.
I own smiles, a lot of them, they hang around my mirror, waiting to be used, my favourite is the Cheshire Grin because nobody believes I’m upset when I have it on. I lost my real smile a while ago; I lost it in the great Christmas war between my mother and father when I was in year eight. It was replaced with bruises and cuts and damages that will never completely heal but that’s ok, like I said, I have plenty to chose from.
Hanging smiles on walls and wearing masks, I am clearly a soon-to-be-psychopath.
I feel my friends are losing base, losing touch with me but maybe I shouldn’t be the one to push them away, I’m bringing it all on myself I believe. I am not worthy of being around such great people; I understand they have their problems, I know, they’ve told me and I’ve heard it. My class talks about my friends all the time, as if I’m not there, I speak up but it doesn’t help.
I’m invisible.
Until I’m pretty enough to be in the real world.
Until I’m skinny enough to slip in a size 10.
Until I’m sane enough.
Until my wrists are cleans.
I will ALWAYS be invisible.
Yesterday, as I walked home from school, I came to the realization that I was insane; I know I’ve always been a little off putting, slightly odd and not fully there as much as anybody else. I was diagnosed with depression in 2008, I was in year seven and I didn’t care about it. I shrugged it off, everybody gets sad; right?
I told no one about it though and now I think it’s finally breaking me.
Back to yesterday, I spent my morning in my English class, one I hate because my teacher is a big headed Christian and is jamming her religion down my throat like some sort of disease. Don’t get me wrong, religion is fine if you got one but please, I don’t want it. I believe what I want. I was then taken to my principles office where I was told my grades had been slipping as badly as my sanity, I nodded and told him that I’ll try to bring my grades up but that just meant trying to attach myself back to the real world and that’s hard to do.
As I walked to my next class, I passed some work tools, there is construction going on around my building and my next classroom was behind it; the tools were left unattended, my arms ached to reach out and grab the chainsaw sitting on the brick wall, I wanted to wrap my fingers around it and carry the menacing device to my classroom. I pictured the cries and screams and pleads for life as I shut the door and revved the chainsaw up, imagining the heads that rolled and the blood that spluttered out everywhere.
I even thought about the aftermath, the sounds of police sirens and the feeling of cold cuffs around my wrists, I wouldn’t fight it, I’d sit in my massacre and let them arrest me, smiling at the situation but crying fake tears in the hearing. The judge would rule ‘Insanity’ and I’d spend the rest of my life in a room made of beds. White walls. White floors. White everything. The idea of being in an asylum excites me way more than it should.
Do you believe I’m crazy now?
I don’t know what led me to think that, to love the image so much; maybe it’s the class, the way they gossip about me and my friends or maybe I’m just fucking insane.
Who knows, if I do go on a mass murdering spree at least I won’t be invisible.