Word Salad.

I scratch at the indentations of my elbows, trying to rub off the tiny little bed bugs that nested there. There were always there. Whether I looked at them or not, they were there - tiny little red dots with pincers that itched my skin. So I rubbed them, looking around me while the walls swam and Mary whispered in my ear, "It would all go away Paul if you stopped rubbing. Then the little bugs would go into your blood and eat through your head until there were these big holes in it. Like Swiss cheese Paul. You like Swiss cheese." But even if I stopped, I knew that they would never go in - no. They were here, always here. Along with my swimming walls with the wet paint. They were a comfort of mine, always here.
The man in the soup pajamas wore a banana hat - but I hated that banana hat. Or was it a hat? No matter - he always called me Henry. But I'm Mary The Rational, everyone knew that. Even Paul and Frank and well everyone. Yesterday I painted the walls red with my fingertips so Paul would stop complaining about the paint swimming. I love to sing about the goats climbing on clouds with the stuffed spiders polkaing on the crescent of the moon. It's nice because you can change the melody every time. I like melodies - I also like the girl with fenced teeth and the smock. She's nice.
Today the assistant - Patricia with the braces - came in asking me my name. I hate that woman. Every time she comes in and asks me for my fucking name. I think she would have figured out who the hell I am by now. I mean, she's here almost every fucking day. It's Frank - I tell her. I want to strangle that bitch - watch the veins pulse with every antagonizing second. And then that crack of her neck... ohh. But no. I sit here, watching her flaunt that lovely figure while she asks me if I had heard from Paul or Mary and when I expected Henry to come back because she needed to talk to him .... and I sit here nodding flexing my fingers looking at her pretty white little neck. What a pity.
Breathe in, breathe out. I feel the little blue core inside of me light up my spine, open my cerebral cortex. Open my mind, embrace it. Envelop the darkness from whence I came. That little blue ball of light in the core. Feel time loop, stop, go backwards. Breathe in, breathe out. I am freeing myself from my identity. I am insignificant, lost. Let the Buddha envelop me. I am Raphael, a tiny speck in this nebula. Feel it. Embrace it. Breathe in, breathe out.
I sit huddled in the corner of this cramped cell. I've lost track of time a long while back. My fingers are marred to the bone. Somebody told me that I had drawn on the walls with blood. Something about goats and spiders, they said. It doesn't matter. It's cold down here, it's been ages since I've had a cigarette. Or anything else for that matter. The doctors even took me off my meds for a while, to see how - tragic - the symptoms truly are. But even now, even with the meds, I can feel them. Mary, Raphael, Frank, Paul. They're all here - smiling, encouraging me. I love them all. They've never left me since the beginning of this ordeal. Not once.
I'm afraid of when the doctors finally get it right.

Who will I be then?