Tag Archives: Crazy writer

The Mental Patient – To Hell Embark

This is my story of being a real life mental patient; roughly based of course. PLEASE LIKE!


The Mental Patient – To Hell Embark

Standing under the spotlight of sanity, I understand I will never be understood. A hand placed firmly upon my shoulder from the orderly to my right. I walk at my own pace to the drum march of hapless disobedience. Squinting eyes peer and pierce my skin from the small wire mesh windows of their cell doors. This walk is endless; I clutch my coat, with thought of fighting freedom. There is no escaping from this.

The infamously curious Dr. Mackay waits at the bottom of tunnel vision hallway, for possibly a quick meet and greet; pill pop and off you pop. I doubt it though. He stands with such poise in his thousand pound suit. He doesn’t fool me, not while his glasses are balancing to stay focused upon his face.

“You must be Alex. Welcome to Newbridges Mental Health Hospital. Today is purely for introduction purposes, we’ll show you around, meet some of the other people who stay here before we let you get settled in. How does that sound?” He finishes with eerie smile. Does someone want to tell this douche I am completely fine?

“Can’t wait, it sounds awesome.” I make no attempt to hide my sarcasm.

“I am sure after a while you will appreciate what we do here, which inevitably you will appreciate more, later on, I am sure of it.” There’s that smile again. I hate it here already.

A stunning woman roughly the same age as myself, she wafts her below shoulder arid hair while she steps through a buzzer-door from behind the doctor.

“Ah, here she comes. This is Jade she is the nurse for this wing of the hospital. Any problems whatsoever come see Jade.”

“Hi there, Alex, like the doctor says, if you have any problems with other patients here or health related problems, do not hesitate to come talk to me, I am usually around until 7pm then I go home, so you will have to talk to the night nurse or one of the orderlies.”

“Well I shall leave you two to talk and have a gander around. Alex, I have already scheduled you in for a meeting for around ten thirty tomorrow morning, so be up and ready by then if you can.” He cocks his head and oddly winks my way. I give him the thumbs-up when I should have given him the middle finger.

The humongous male orderly from behind me joins Dr. Mackay; one clips away the other stomps. I look for all of my exits and all I see are mesh, bars and electrical button pads; I am stuck here. I roll my eyes to the events which have brought me to my knees practically in this Hell-Hole.

I scrunch up my coat to distress my fingertips and to stop me from swiping at people.

Jade stand idly with a gaze of intrigue in-between each blink she produces.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” I firmly drawl.

“I was waiting for you to make the first move. Now that you have let me tell you, this place ain’t so bad. I just want to help you, remember that, we all do. But after reading you file, may I say, you don’t seem like the same person from paper.” I jump her words.

“That’s because I never wrote it…”

“So you like to write? Could that be something you could see yourself doing?”

“I don’t man, I just don’t want to be here right now, so if that mean taking a splash into my imagination, so be it… But I have been known to throw one or two words together in my time.”

She grins from one side of her face. This chick is a stunner, too bad the band on her finger says she is married. I’ve never been one for keeping to the guidelines of life; I mean look at my predicament I am in.

“Alex, walk with me.” We begin calmly strolling over the excessively cleaned reflective floor into a larger room. Several security cameras are protected by metal frames, same with the television. All larger objects such as chairs and tables look to me screwed into the ground for safety measures.

“This is the common area, all of the patients usually cluster in here every day, unless they have earned their stars and have been given a pass to go outside. You will be monitored closely if you are with a group of friends to when you are by yourself; no exceptions. The television is usually on, we do not watch anything which may evoke angry emotions, so we keep it to educational channels. Once a week we will watch a movie, one we all want to watch; also three square meals a day and finally a partridge in a pear tree. How does that sound?”

I scratch the back of my head in unmoving boredom.

“I’m sure I can manage. Can we put this thing on hold, I was given some meds when I came in and all I want to do is crash-out and sleep.” I slightly slur.

“Sure thing, we can continue our little walk some other time when you’re ready; C’mon, this way to your room.” She swiftly shifts around my sluggish limbs.

I enter through a door which Jade keeps open for me. A bed, desk, one chair and an on suite bathroom is all I have. I must be moving up in the world.

“I know it’s not much to look at now, but once you settle in I am sure you will think of this as your own room.” She places her hand on my back.

“Thanks. But for right now, all I want to do is, give my pillow some head and my sheets some ass.”

She giggles in the most peculiar high pitch way.

“That was funny. We do quiet checkups on the hour every hour. It’s not that we want to invade your privacy, but you never know. Have a nice sleep and I will see you soon, Alex.

“Hopefully…” I play the cool card on her.

She exits the door in her own time, her eye bouncing on and off me. The lock turns and I turn my guards off and chuck myself on the bed for a medication nap.



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Writing Sanity is Insane 2

Insane 11

My opaquely dysfunctional posture stands firm, this sedition could coffin this world. The human race kicked me out of their private club-house, now I am taking up new hobbies, dismemberment.  I am transcending through my writing, my transport to the other world. My climb to the top is in a spiral staircase crisis, giving myself a minuscule nudge into the unknown immortal coil, this is all I know. Read between my lines until you get cross-eyed.

I am a totem of total solemn; my soul purpose in this asylum is to tear until worn-out, my body, collapse these obituary columns which keep me grounded whilst I run away from my demons. Where I have been, your imagination is classed as a weapon for explosive exploitation; I swaddle all of this twaddle I dabbled in. Mirror promises with filled eyes, I can’t look at myself, the fear will become non-fiction.

insane 12

I overshadow my own characteristics, feral and feeble, I paint on a clown smile; the tears are real. These words may seem as a pathetic or embarrassing; this is only the top layer of my thick skin I am flaying and writing upon. I emaciate my mind so I can traipse back from the fires inside; I fill these pages because I can no longer afford to fill myself. All I can do is march forward with my fingers.

I learned from when I was a toddler, people are the worst type of monsters; so I grew-some and became gruesome.

I have a way of bringing the best out of you when the worst is going on. I notice everyone jumping on the bandwagon whilst I am fall off the wagon. I don’t want your money or pity, I want your eyes. I can show any extra enemy an empty welcome entry or experimental empathy entirely for eternity, depending on my mood. I will never divide my divine but deny all of this denial as the devil has deeded death on me.

Slinging slithering slander as a sufficient serpent strike suffering in stupendous stillness. This is where I will be, padded cells for all. Blessed with this curse to slur my toxic thoughts from my fantasy world ravished by war, patients versus doctors; who will win? Who will win? Me…

insane 13

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My Chaotic Carvings

Chaotic logo

Chaotic logo (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I will no longer slave my thinking, a war upon sanity. Inflict hate when I elicit my illicit pen on all which are affectionate towards my bad black blood pump. One chance to rule this world, I am loosing myself within the moment of monumental moulded monsters I shall muster. No treatments I hand Earth, only disease ridden written miracles; I am mad for medicines. I refuse to stay sober, reuse my pain into reissuing myself another high. My instincts are primal but my guts are in knots, fight or flee?

Finally, I am taking a stand, staring at an ocean of people, a sea of waving hands greets me; I am looking upon my attackers. I was a sandwich sort of a picnic and lost myself in the woods, this is where I was hunted and haunted by these words and found this pen, just lying there, calling to me; now I unleash this pens inner anger character and release myself back into the wilds of vile.

I am dissociating myself from this plane of existence; it’s not meant for people such as me. Haven’t you ever seen a man floating from a page? Believe your eyes, I am omnipotent.

I have a heavy-duty headache, the voices want me to carve into my skull and wheedle out this worm, which sinks in its teeth into the little reality I grasp, so much so, I think I am going to die during sleepy-time. I’ve had enough; I am out of this world; point at the alien and be on your way. Systematically the darkman which lives within my mainframe flicked my self-destructive switch, so every swish is a wish or every scribble is literal, it’s quite simple, you should look past my dimples.

Kneel before my writing! I am singing to crazy, dancing frantically to the feared heartbeat you all own. Count your money, paint on your smiles; I know you are all scared of life. Panic on the streets, an army of psychopaths by my side, we’re coming for the Iron Throne. We come from the darkness to steal you light, I am my mother’s sun; she managed to raise hell in this house. My only cure now is not to dig my way out of reality but slash my way out from this page.

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Writing My Fear Out


I’m overdosing on madness, this is my design. Stop me before my thoughts make this pen kill again. I’m hiding under my own bed waiting for myself to wake up, monsters lie here. I and the evilness I possess have a tryst and our relationship is based on volatile trust and bad words such as deflesh then devour. You may call my work whimsical fiction with a smidge of tittle psychosis but through my peepers they are iris-portholes to other worlds balanced between love and flames.

I’m lonely, no friends over here but I like it this way, no one enters – no one leaves. You sane people think we are unthinking sharks but the reality is we do ponder about wonders and within this pond we can breathe under deep waters. This world has damaged me more than your eyes can take before you squeeze them shut tight; I wish I was born blind sometimes. These words keep the darkness at bay; I waft a light wherever I go, I am ready for the night-time this time, clutching my pen and teddy-bear tight before bed.

I have hit a precipice in my life, today, while I write this; one where I can stay and enjoy the endless drone of life until I wake up at the age of fifty and tell myself I should have jumped feet first into that black hole. I know and you know I am not normal, well I consider myself as normal through my eyes but it is your observation and critique of me telling me the exact opposite. What will happen if I can’t stop writing? What if I carry on with this and achieve nothing within this skin? What if I acquire all I need with my words? This dream has my reality telling me false lies or un-yet truths. Do I continue or do I put the quill back in the bird? Take a breath, Alex.

Two things are certain, I know who I am and I know my limitations; what does my gut tell me? Perhaps and maybe’s. I am merely a blank page dweller who knits words for people’s amusement, I may not have an obligation to you, yet, but you and I know the killer’s story brings forth their eyes.

But my thoughts can switch from pleasant to scattering around the atmosphere and landing with a confidence with a dark undertone, which even scares me sometime. I can’t help what I think or write, they don’t call it a flow for nothing.

fearless 2

You cannot save me; I only have one hand, the other is only a bald stump with a pen attached. Alex, you’re ugly and no one likes you; start writing your bones outs boy. My knees have given way and my hands are soaking wet with sea-water and blood as I clench onto razor-sharp mountain peaks; our whole world is literally against me at this juncture in my life and I am still holding it up.

They throw their battle fists at my face or mouth but forget I am writer, you want to hurt me? Break my fingers, I’m good with them in all fashions; here’s a small show for you, my middle-finger. Viola!

The sane don’t believe in miracles or dreams, thus this rapscallion slash escape-artist will venture from this abattoir to the best-sellers list of all time. You may think this is my mere reverie or twaddle but this is something I can feel at the end of my fingertips every time I type.

You want it in rhyme form? Not a problem.

The air is always cold in my area-code,

Heavy loads holding malaria,

Better bury my soul,

Spending all February wincing in this hell hole,

Now from this fake burial I will charge a worldwide revolt,

Word to the wise,

First to tell lies,

He don’t,

Alex, now burst into flight,

Turn your words into light,

Be the worst in the wild,

Fear not!

stand up

You do not fear me world, but you will fear me; all of you against me, seems accurate enough. What makes me different from you? All of you perambulate through hell but I stop and smell the venom of the fire-flowers because there is no getting out; and I am so sane to the thought of it. I do not write for money nor fame, I write because it is all I have in this world. It is a not just art; it’s an extension of my being so let this human-being become refulgent for once. These are my delusions of grandeur, but one day my work will be looked upon as teaching purposes; or maybe I am striking false matches and blowing smoke up my own Ar$£!

This is the part of life I like to refer to as, mental illness; this is the part of life teachers never taught me about in school; maybe I was ill that day? But you believe in the comprehendible to be your saviour; it’s all about control with you people, ain’t it? Thinking if it can’t be beaten and packaged neatly into a snug little cubicle then it must be a threat. It’s a control technique; weak people like to use it. Smile! That might be you!

Do you think the monsters disappear from me at the end of the day once I have written the story and you have read? Nope.

Order or Chaos?

Order or Chaos?

Order or Chaos?

I’m still in debate!

But I will tell you something real that you can look upon and take with you today.


We’re all raindrops racing to that endless ocean. Some of us don’t even try at life; they look from the ground to the sky and live in the shadow of their beasts. There are people out there who would run at their hurricanes head-on, fist clenched and teeth bared. The majority would call them crazy; to me, they are living up to their fullest potential and not stopping, fearless and facing themselves to become reinforced with an impenetrable vision to become whole in that single second. Why don’t I give it a go and conquer my own life?

I am picking up this pen and writing with the ink of my tears.

I am the fearless writer!

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Writing Sanity Is Insane


If you have just read this image, as writer you would laugh!

This is not a sucker-punch for sane people but a hopeful wake-up call. See what is wrong with everything and everyone around you and you can and will write better than you are now. It makes for better adventure through the human-horror. Better character description and also great themes and locations, all you have to do is look and analyze. Enjoy!

Sanity is the skin of the world so Insanity is within the blood. What I don’t comprehend, as a fully functioning sociopath is why so many ill people are locked up when sanity is the illness…

I switch on my TV and I see wars over things that in theory can be avoided, but governments go head on and send in their soldiers to do battle while they sit locked-up in their guarded rooms. I turn over the channel and I see Celebrities taking more drugs, driving the wrong way up a road and within their next breath tell our youths “I am role model, follow me!”

I switch on my internet I see lonely people trying to build a virtual life because in reality they can’t cut it. And people don’t go out anymore; in is the new out. The outside world is evil and corrupt and could destroy you. “Tonight darling, I think we should stay in and tomorrow as well, you know what, let us never leave our home again. Who needs sunlight anyway?” Haha!

I mean the list goes on and on… But what has my thoughts in a clench is, with all this going on, this world wants to stick people like me in a padded room because we hear voices. ARE YOU SERIOUS!

I mean yes, we do have the occasional bad-sociopathic-apple who goes on a murder-spree and spread fear throughout this world. But it’s nothing like what sanity has moulded this world into.

And I could do far more as a Mentally Ill Writer than most Normal People. I can write Songs, I can write Screenplays, Novels, short stories, blogs and even been known to make up the occasional haiku. One day I would love for people to read my work and follow in my writing-footsteps and become great. But I see some people give up the possible great life they could work for because society and life has taught them reaching for the stars is impossible. This belief is not for people like us!

Hey, if you are reading this then I am assuming that you are in search for a life beyond the one you are living now. So all I am saying is break away from the norm and become insanely great!

Hit that like button!

This has been an Alexander Kennedy, A Psychotically Creative Writing Announcement.

Keep those pens busy!

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