You were schizophrenic. Because of this, you tended to see things that weren't actually there, and your reality was distorted. Your mental state caused you to have violent tendencies, and you ended up at an asylum.

Your life wasn't so bad, well at least that's how you felt. You weren't always aware of your surroundings. You were currently sitting on a bed in a padded white room. You wore a straitjacket, and your ankles were chained to the bed. You rock back and forth gently, trying to ignore the voices in your head. You tug at the straitjacket, but as always, it doesn't budge.

You hear the dangling of keys and the door to your room being opened. It's an orderly. You never see their faces, just their gloved hands as they feed you your food or medication.