I’d always been a deep thinker, a free thinker, all my life. As a child, I loved sports, the outdoors, and the arts. I had troubles in those formative years, but I never thought I’d feel the repercussions of those misfortunes later as an adult. Now, I’m old and crazy, at least that’s what the people in the white uniforms have been telling me all these years. They often say, “You’re nothing but an old, senile coot, Carter Lynch.” That’s why I’ve been in this hospital forever. I haven’t always been crazy. I do have flashes of happier times in my life, of my family and friends. I remember a time my daughter and I took a bike ride to the park. I remember pushing her in the swing, and she laughed and yelled, “Higher, Daddy, higher!” I also remember proposing to my wife at the lake. She had no idea what I was up to, and I was scared as a puppy in a thunderstorm. So, yes, there was a time when I didn’t have the disease—the term often used in this place.
