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I open my eyes and look at my all white surroundings. Everything is a nice and soft, curved, and there were no loose objects that I can hurt myself with. As always I'm in my restrictive clothing, for my own good of course, it is also white. I'm kept sedated regularly, lord only knows what I might actually do if I were allowed to have enough energy to think for myself. Everyday I'm visited by a pretty lady doctor who asks me questions and tries to get me to tell her what I'm thinking. I know better than that. All of this together is the only thing that will make me better. Make me think like the rest. Make me normal. Normal. What kind of word is normal? What does it mean? They wont let me have books here, but the pretty lady doctor told me once that normal meant conforming to the standard. I ask her why. She just sighs and leaves like I don't know what I was talking about because I'm crazy. Everyone thinks I'm crazy. Yet they want me to tell them what I know. Even when it makes them mad. They tell me that the only way I'll get better is if I tell them, but that's what got me here, and I haven't changed my mind. A nurse comes in with a plate. It's time for my lunch. She walks over to me with it and proceeds to feed me. I can't stop her; I'm too tired and weak from the drugs. Though my body doesn't want to work, my mind is still a steel trap. Working overtime all the time. There is nothing they can do about that. It makes them mad. After she feeds me she takes out the syringe for the usual daily injection. She jams the needle in my neck and once again all my urges to escape are gone. I roll my head over to the side and stare at her with glassy eyes. She doesn't even look at me. Then again why should she? I'm just another wacko in the asylum. Everyone knows that. Even I did. It's no surprise. This is where they always send the people who know more than the standard says they are supposed to. They threaten you and hunt you down so that you wont tell, and then when they get you they almost demand it. Who are they you might ask? They are whoever you want them to be, the government, a secret covert underground, the man next door and his dog that seems to only crap on your lawn, your over bearing parents, your parents who just don't seem to care, your little brother, the president, Canada, Russia, Cuba, aliens, yourself. You see they put me in here because I know. I know how to solve the problems of the world. I know the answer, yes I do. You may think I'm a raving loony and maybe I am. But who else do you know who can sum up every reply to every question in one simple answer? Think for yourself. That's it. That's the answer. Not that you should become a rebel to everything that is conformity. Not that you shouldn't run with the crowd. But make a decision without the influence of drugs, TV, music, your peers, your parents, your boss, your employees, your dog, your favorite actor, the president, the Internet, this story. Make up your own mind, just once. What you come up with is yours. Not that you should act upon it. Not that you shouldn't let it influence the rest of your life. Maybe this answer doesn't solve poverty; maybe it doesn't bring world peace. But if people would look around and see what's going on. Realize that the world can be better if they make it better. Learn that their actions involve so many other people, animals, and elements. Set aside their goals and look at new ones. Be steadfast to their ideals. Stay open minded to others. Forget what people look like on the outside and get to know them. Forget what you look like on the outside and pity those who do. Help those better than you and those who aren't as good. Not the message you expected from a crazy person locked away in a room with nothing else to do but think? You'd be surprised. The pretty lady doctor is coming back in here. She wants me to tell her what I'm thinking. I'm too tired to open my mouth. She looks aggravated again. I think they're going to up my dosage.