A Lost Soul

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""But I don't want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can't help that," said the Cat: "we're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad."
A Lost Soul
Today is a warm, sunny day. It's so nice that everyone is spending as much time as possible outside. Yesterday was St. Patrick's Day, and although most of the college students decided to drink, I decided to smoke a joint with some people. It wasn't bad, but the strange thing is how it effects me. What it does is to turn on the parts that have long since been worn down and knocked out from the psychotropic medications I'm taking. I become better. I become the seventeen year old before she was locked up in a mental institution and cracked for good.
I found that after a few seconds, I was jolted back into my own personality! Almost as if it supplied missing pieces to my self. Suddenly I came back, and I wasn't just "conscious" of what I was doing...you know..going through the motions....I was actually doing things and not worrying or concentrating so hard.
I wasn't so blocked up and trapped inside myself. It's a hard thing to face, when you've been taking medications for years that do something to you, which you don't really understand nor feel or are sure if it is helping. Well- see that's where the line blurs. Understanding gets fucked on pills. One minute something seems rediculous, and then another I start thinking- this is just subjective thinking.
I think of my brain as a computer with a bunch of switches that turn on certain levels of my personality, myself, my ego, my soul, my mind. But what if you're constantly pressing buttons which do not need to be pressed? It has to get to a point, where there are more options. What options do I have? The only medicine that really helps me is illegal.
It's so hard to believe in yourself. Either way, whether or not I'm sane or crazy, schizo or normal, I'm still a lost soul.
Do I really have a choice?