They say living hard is easy when you're young and bulletproof, only I wonder how true that statement is if you've lived in a mental facility for most your life...

St. Augustine's has been my home for the last 19 years now, ever since my parents took me to see a specialist because I wasn't ''acting like myself''.

Truth is, I developed an alter ego at an early age, I guess as a means of escape so I wouldn't have to deal with their constant bickering and violent abuse anymore. Yet after much therapy, tests, doctors' appointments, hospital appointments, you name it I've done it...my alter ego still remained and stuck by me long after my parents ever did.

Now it's 19 years later and I'm still here...still with my alter ego...still ''crazy.''

''Open up Mr. Good, you know what happens if you fight it'' the doctor who was stood by me said.

I didn't protest, I just calmly opened my mouth and took my meds like a good patient.

Just hold them under your tongue then chuck it when that loser walks away!

I tilted my head back while the doctor did the usual routine mouth check with his little torch. Satisfied I'd consumed my pills, I sat watching quietly as the doctor checked my name off his list and excited my room to go see the next patient. As soon as he was gone, I got up and immediately spat them in the trash.

Thanks Buddy!

Anytime!

Oh man I hated it here. You might walk into this place an loon, but you ain't walking out cured that's for damn sure. I know for a fact this facility harbors some of the best meds ever known to man, and they alone are enough to keep you crazy 'till your end of days!

That's what I tell every new face that walks in here looking just as scared and alone as I did. It took many years to accept the fact that my parents were never coming back to get me, that they'd left me alone here to be someone else' problem. Overtime however I learned to get over it, but the hurt itself never really goes away. That's why they deserved to know the truth, instead of hanging onto what little hope they had of maybe one day getting out of this place...there is no out.

If my time here has taught me anything, it's that there are only three things for certain in life: Death. Taxes and permanent residency at St. Augustine's.

I've made my peace with it now, only because after time you realize staying bitter just ain't gonna do you no favors. And if you're ever to survive a place like this, then you better learn pretty fast to find other ways of occupying your mind, instead drowning in the crazy world around you.

St. Augustine's had gained vast popularity over the years, what with it being the largest mental asylum in the state of Ohio. It was also the most prestigious too, drawing media attention from all over the country.

I guess it was amusing for them to see just how ''crazy'' crazy could get.

Still, I had to admit I felt kinda bad though, not because of the unwanted attention we always got for keeping the media amused, but because I actually walked round here every day with a huge advantage on my shoulders.

You see...I wasn't alone. I had someone looking out for me, someone who no doctor in a white coat, and no medication could ever take away from me.

I had Dean.