In my mind I get to point and stare like everybody else. It’s other. “Poor babies”, I say with exaggerated pity, shaking my head at their plight. Secretly I’m glad it’s not me. I’m on the outside looking in, counting my blessings. Wondering what it’s like to be one of ‘them’. In reality, I’m inside the cage with the rest of the crazies. I Am one of them. My mind just hasn’t accepted it yet. So I pretend.