Being Me: A short story (non-fiction)

This is from a three word prompt, however, it is a very personal piece. Its not fiction. These words hold truth, painful as it is.
The three words of the promp are:
1. degree
2. needle
3. Shoe


What kinds of things go through the mind of a mentally unstable person? A lot, I can tell you that. Some of it is deep, thoughtful and profound things. Other thoughts hold a degree of pure insanity.
The world is skewed to us blessed nutcases. We can see the whole wide world through the eye of a needle. We can hear music when there is none. We make our own.
We think and do what most would never do, especially in public. Sometimes we are shy, we don’t leave out protective cocoon. Other times, we are blatantly there, like me with my neon green watchband and shoelaces.
We feel things so differently as well. Torrential highs, and despairing lows.
Some of us find pleasure, or even release, in slicing a cool blade through our flesh, just to see the crimson pool and feel that little sting as the open wound hits the air.
Drugs. Not the bad kind. Or maybe they are. So many prescriptions. Cereal bowl in morning, cereal bowl at night.
One to shut out the voices, one to calm the heart, one to calm the nerves, one to dull the senses, one to keep you from ripping yourself apart. One to help you sleep. One to keep the dreams and nightmares at bay.
One to make you resemble a person, when really, you’re not.
I have the scars, I have the pills.
Still I have the fears and anxiety and depression and rage.
I’ll be the death of me sooner or later.

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