You don't know how you got here.
The only thing you really do know is that you don't belong here. This isn't where you're supposed to be. Everyone keeps trying to tell you that yes, it is. They tell you you're just a little sick, but it's all right, because now they're going to help you. But you know it's not true-- it can't be.
You hear the hushed whispers from the other patients. Experiments. Tests. Treatments. Treatments that patients don't even return from sometimes. All better, you're told, but you don't believe that either. And then there's talk of the mysterious West Wing...
They know you're up to something, too. They know you don't believe them, don't believe any of the rumors that echo through the halls. Because you don't want to.
Of course you didn't imagine all of it. Of course you're not mad. Though you're not sure-- you might go mad if you stay here much longer.
"These sorts of things don't happen," you try to reason, almost desperately. "This is all just a horrible nightmare."
But your roommate has started rocking back and forth on his bed, and you're not sure why. Not sure whether you want to believe everything comes for you at night, that you're on your own, that the doctors and nurses-- who you've long decided by now are not your friends-- aren't there to protect you when darkness falls and doors unlock.
No matter where you were before, or what you were doing, you're here now. Surrounded by insanity, you can't help but wonder-- are you one of them?
Institution for the Insane.