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I honestly don't know what to call this, whether it's a poem or a bunch of text thrown.
-
It's My Insanity,
'Not Acting Out Of Sanity,
I have Guilty Looking Conscious,
It's Bringing Me Down To Earth,
Keeping Great Peace With Me,
I Hope I can please you,
with my special little friend.

I know I'm the only one who can fix it,
but I'll leave it for now,
for I'm in severe pain from,
all the talking about me,
as I said clearly,
leave me alone now,
I have a lot of friends,
who keep me lots of company.
-

Thanks.

About: How People Dislike To Be "Helped" For They Are "Insane". Because they don't want to believe that they aren't normal so they make up these excuses to say that they are just like everyone else.

Very dark but I quite liked it ... best of luck

True, the more help we need, the more we deny it. Your poem has a hint of Emily Dickinson sombreness about it.