Crazy, dissociative, broken...all words meaning the same thing to me. I could no longer recognize the truth about who I was. Locked away in my mind were the secrets of my past, the secrets that had driven me into a mental hospital. The worst part was, I didn't want to discover the truth, I didn't want to remember. Because that would mean admitting the one thing I'd hidden from everyone, especially myself- I was a murderer.
