People in my head

They keep asking me what happened, but what am I supposed to tell them? They do not understand. I am not afraid of being blamed, I even believe I might deserve it. What I really want is for them to understand what happened that day. I need them to open their mind and listen. After all, I don't really want to be blamed. I mean, who does? But I don't know where to start. I don't know what's real anymore. I don't want to explain; I might make it worse. But I have to soon or they'll think I'm trying to cover something up.

A million questions raced through my head; questions people had been asking me, questions I couldn't answer even to myself. At first everybody believed I was innocent. Well, I am innocent. Hypothetically, at least. The reality is a big blur.

The hospital stank of antiseptics, but I had been here so long i barely noticed the smell anymore. I was not allowed to walk and hadn't been outside my room even once in two months. My thoughts were my own enemy. The raging battle shook me up everyday and i would lapse into deep silences that i couldn't be shook out of. I wasn't acting normal but i was the only one who could see that. I needed to be able to think clearly if they wanted to know the truth. Every version of the reality constructed itself differently while i slept sow hen i woke up in the morning that i wasn't sure of what really happened. I tried to explain a couple of times but I would begin to contradict myself and abruptly stop to think. I would zone out completely trying to concentrate that the ensuing silence i would maintan would be impossible to drag me out of. The doctors called it trauma, as though the word explained everything. My mother thought it did for she nodded knowingly and pitifully. It wasn't trauma. i told them i wasn't in shock. I told them how i couldn't think straight how i didn't know what was real anymore. but no one understands. They give me a medicine to blank my mind but it doesn't make sense of the memories of the incident i had constructed in my own mind. The false memories. The world in which i was the bad person. There was a case pending against me and so far i had been too medically weak to fight back. But now the pressure was building.

i couldn't be the bad person. Life wasn't going to end like this, with me in jail. I decided right then that it was either freedom or death. But that decision seemed almost secondary. The paranoia that set me in fits of shaky jerking and and craziness was the memory that i was indeed the villain here. Please god, tell me this isn't true. Somebody please tell me this isn't true.