Imprisoned

In my nightmares I am trapped in a mental ward. I can't move my hands without feeling the restriction of the straps. My head is clear, no trace of the "madness" like they say contains me. . . I strain against the black polyester with every ounce of my strength and yet; I still I can't seem to budge. I stare into the eyes of a lost child, I can't necessarily remember who I was before the world labeled me what I wasn't; "Mad."

My back hurts right from the base of my spine to the tail bone. Saliva is pooling in the back of my mouth, yet my tongue feels as if I haven't drank water in 7 days. The staff have all gone to do about their business. I am alone. Heart pounding ready to explode in my chest, my ribs feel as though they are ready to give way any second. . . My eyes desperately scan left and right for signs of someone coming to help.

But there is no-one there. Just a shallow memory of a lost little girl, I stare blankly at her, the cause of my pain and misery; But she doesn't seem to have a care in the world. She is only five, what five year old would? I'm not allowed to be afraid. I'm not allowed to show the tenseness that grows in my head and heart. So I stare blankly back at the reflection of my 5 year old oblivious self.

But I'm not a child anymore, I grew up many years ago, the face I stare at no longer resembles who I am now. A lost woman wondering the streets of insanity looking for a droplet of sanity. Life was never easy even with Mom and Dad.  In some ways my life did improve, that is for a short time. There were good people who cared, enough food and clothes. But every time I saw a cut flower I knew how it felt.

It had no roots at all, nothing to anchor it to this world; yet was still expected to give its beauty, to flourish and warm the hearts of others. No-one can see my vulnerability; they cannot see the roots I lack. I paint the world with the vibrancy of my laughter, hugs and kindness. I look forward to the future and work hard in everything I do, I am expected to get better but it's been 17 years; When do I get better?

I've learned from a young age that forever, means never. And people walk away all the time. 'Family,' what a strange word. Once held meaning and now it does not; But maybe it is for the best that I do not have a family. Yes, we all saw how my last family played out, ripped from the hands of my 5 year old self. . .

It doesn't happen all at once, you know? One minute it's sunny then the next it's dark; You lose a piece here. You lose a piece there, you stumble and then you adjust your grip. You lose a couple more pieces along the way, it happens so slowly you barely even notice you’re broken. . . Until you already are. And since there are no rashes, no scars just yet, no one really notices you’re slipping away into a depression state.

Life is pain, love is pain, hate is pain, Every. Little. Thing. Is pain. I wake up every morning and I am in pain. Do you know how many times I've wanted to give up? How many times I've thought about ending it all? Therapy, therapy, therapy sessions. It doesn't work, and I just want to feel human again.