Despite what Mum, my teachers, except Mr. Howard, of course, the man at the chippy, Auntie Pat and Uncle Ian, Keith and Sue, Jenny, Chris, Anna, the angry lollypop lady, that weird guy with half a pair of glasses on who keeps shouting at people in town outside Wimpy, although he does do that to everyone, Andrew, Pete, Will and Jonnie and that Car Crash lady, I am not mental. I hear them whisper it under their breath before I leave a room or something, saying it quietly so they don’t get caught but loud enough so I hear. I just don’t get it. I just don’t understand how I could be called mental. I just don’t get it?

I think I’m a normal decent guy. I don’t get involved with bad kids who nick things and start random fights with people and I’m not one of those goodie goodie’s, who just sit in all day reading the bible and sing along to Kumbyah. I’m normal. I look normal, I act normal and I talk normal. I am normal. But people don’t talk to me normally; they don’t even look at me normally. And I guess that’s why I’ve ended up here. She doesn’t like me being different to the other kids. She said the reason I don’t have any friends because they say they can’t trust me, but that is just silly because they can trust me. I am probably the most trustworthy boy anyone will ever meet. But they call me Mental too. Well, actually they call me Mental Mallet, but that’s the same thing.

I think it’s an awful word, mental. I looked it up in the dictionary I got for Christmas. It means; crazy, stupid, having a psychiatric disorder and that’s not true! So why the bloody hell they calling me that? Sorry for swearing, although I don’t even know if that’s a swear word nowadays. Now, I am not crazy or stupid because I am in top set in Maths and Science. And! I do not have a psychiatric disorder because I asked Dr Evans when I saw him and he said, “My good god, no! Anything but.” See? Anything but! And he is a doctor! A good one who got an award once. It was in the paper and everything!

I know the reason why people don’t wanna be my friend, but I can’t help it. It isn’t because I am mental, it’s because I won’t lie. Ever. About anything!! Now it’s not because I hurt people or set fires or steal, it’s because I tell the god’s honest truth, every single time about everything. I won’t, don’t and can’t lie. Now, I know what you’re thinking, he’s mental and you’re wrong. I’m not. Honest.

I, like everyone else ever, have been brought up, knowing that lying is bad, but somehow since I’ve got older, this has become less and less true. Lying is supposed to be bad, isn’t it? If you lie, you are a bad person. But if I tell the truth, I’m the bad person. I’m one who either gets shouted at, clipped around the ear or called mental. I don’t understand it! Mum doesn’t like the fact I want to tell the truth about everything. Some people might think Wow! Lucky Guy, he is being encouraged to tell porkies!! Go on, Lie away son, lie away! But I don’t want to. You don’t get people saying, Wow! Lucky Guy, he is being encouraged to hurt people, Go on, punch away son, puch away! But don’t worry…I don’t want to punch anyone.

To be honest, I don’t mind when other people call me mental or weirdo or dickhead because they don’t matter. It happens all the time and I just ignore them, just like the saying ‘Water off a ducks back’. That’s how I feel, cos these people mean nothing in my life; but when the people who are suppose to love me start shouting things that aren’t true, that hurts. That’s the only reason why I get so upset and angry all the time because of that. They say, “Jack, you never stop and think, do you? You stupid boy." That is untrue. I always think. I think alot. Too much sometime. But when I said “Yes Auntie Pat, sorry but your new hairstyle does look like Rod Stewart on a bad hair day” That was true also, she looked awful, but guess who got the sore earhole.
So I guess that’s why I’m here. I guess you decide what the truth is. I don’t wanna be here but I guess I have no choice and if I get to prove everyone wrong, I guess it will be worth it all.