Hiding Crazy

Most are raised in a way where everyday is the standard level of thinking and feeling, they interact with others and may notice that some are mentally peeling.
We've each been taught to treat everyone we meet in a specific way, and not expecting the reciprocation, but hoping that they may.
And from my life so far a big fear of mine was being treated differently, because for one whole year of my life, I was walking around literally trying to hide crazy.
I still don't know all the factors that misconstrued my thoughts, but fuck the one's I know definitely were all different kinds of sorts. 
Let's get the main one out to start with, The first 12 years of my life consisted of blocked out memories from a cunt that was worse than a sith. 
He played with my emotions from day dot, I remember at 2 years old in the lounge room and he's telling me that mum loves me not. 
Now let's fast forward to age 12 and I'm standing in a courtroom with this guy on the other side of the floor. He was my dad, and looked me in the eyes and said no more. 
What the fuck is a kid meant to do when your dad says he's over being your dad. And you wanna know something else about that tool, he thought it would be fun to pretend everything was normal a year later when he found me across the country, alone, in boarding school.
I suppressed all the emotions though, I shoved them down to my fucking shoes, wish I didn't though because I might have overcome some of my mental issues. And that's definitely one of the factors to me having to hide crazy, I couldn't address certain issues at a time in my life, and now there's a part of my brain that's lazy. I'm not saying it doesn't want to get up, I'm saying I need years of personal work so I can wake it up. 
Yeah Let's move on the next thing, I know it was a factor, but it was also definitely a blessing. 
I came home from hitchiking around Australia. My friends were all keen to have a night I was 20, of course I couldn't say nah. After 6 weeks of sobriety, of course I'm gonna have a wine and a couple of billy's, then someone got a bag out, ooooh, mushies.
Had a few and fatigue took to my sight, then within 15 minutes I was out like a light. Until I woke up in the night, and I felt catatonic, I didn't think I could move, trying to make note, then I opened my eyes to my roommate, she was physically forcing the mushrooms down and rubbing my throat. What's troubling though is I don't remember telling her to stop, apparently I was fucking loving it, handful after handful she kept feeding my high, and it was in that moment, that I was too keen to die. 
I was in my lounge room alone when I woke, the psilocybin affected my nerves, it was like I had a stroke. Thankfully after a couple of days that ceased to permeate. But for the next year I was living in the metaphysical. Yep, I was in mushy state.
You might be questioning why I look at that as a blessing. I like to perceive it that mushrooms are natural, and enlightening for the brain. And even though I was in excruciating psychological pain, I wouldn't be as conscious as I am now in the life game.