It's not you its me

It (if it is even an it) starts out like a whisper lasting less than a second. Just several wisp wing voices all at once. I listen for it only to realize it isn't a sound. Then I feel it again. I focus only to understand nothing. Just the same group of voices ( if they even are voices) it's like several incoherent whispering feelings. When I wait for it it doesn't come. When I focus it goes away. When I trick it into revealing itself it hides ( if "it"can even hide) when I am an un suspecting spectator it takes me by surprise. And as I try to listen. I start to understand that I am crazy. I start to feel like it's not a normal thing. Then I remember I haven't taken my pills in a few days. And I start to remember that I am a pill head now. A reliant med head. A script prescribed by a person ( who might be afflicted them self) who guessed this might unburden me. A person paid to wait for someone like me to admit half of my brains burdens. Someone who wants to understand why I am a crazy person ( to get me out into the general populous ) But afraid to let the world know how crazy I actually am ( in case something were to go wrong) . What if they put me in a room without a full understanding of my potential. What if they think I have a tendency to inflict. What if they misdiagnose. Am I to trust a person who is paid to play a mind game until they have the piece they need to puzzle a paper into their superior who's sits behind a desk of organized patients and has less clues to the workings of the inner mind. Can I trust a fool. What qualifies his/her decisions. I don't belong here. That's the bottom line. Can I believe that there's hope for me when I have seen proof not this far. I'm distant and growing further form knowing and my patience is blowing and I hate myself , so you know. I wonder the meaning and fight with a feeling of ending it all everyday. But still I breath it's taking me grief for the people who I might leave behind. This turned to distraction I didn't mean to know them I wanted it all just to end. But still it struggles and fear in the snuggles that bring me further from fate. I keep myself here and torture my near death imprison my brain. Some day I'll cry fuckit and kick over this bucket and hang by my neck until dead. Satan will greet me as I have finally defeat me and smile to know he has won. But I won't care I left it all there my new prison has a new taste. I shouldn't have known them my fear has enclosed them into a regrettable friend. I hope and I pray for the sweetness of days that I have the guts for its end.