domingo, 6 de septiembre de 2015


I cannot believe I'm here again. How did this happen? How did I get trapped again?
This was not my plan.

Silence, it is all silence... even the whispers are silent... my tears are silent... my screams are silent... Everything goes unheard. I need noise. I miss noise.

I have started to hear the voice of the wind. I have started to speak with its rather feminine voice. Who would have thought that the wind in all its freedom and strength would have a feminine voice? I long to be like the wind. She tells me stories of the places she has seen; she tells me about the mountain tops and the darkest caverns. I long to be free like the wind. She answers to no one. I answer to silence.

I am not crazy! I am not! Why do people push labels on things they don't understand? I'm just looking for something they cannot comprehend, something they don't seem to need, but when I ask out loud, they lock me again.

Isn't it ironic that in the day I'm supposed to feel free I am trapped in a four-walled cage craving for fresh air in an old muggy mattress? Free-day... free-day... frii-day... f r i d a y... Yeah right... The only people who regain their freedom are my keepers who get to walk away while I remain trapped. They lock me up and have noone to care for.

Shelter! I look for shelter. I ask for shelter. I need shelter. I needed shelter... And people don't understand my struggle because for them their home is their shelter. When I go home the ghosts speak to me... The ghosts are never happy... My home is not my shelter; however, neither are these walls... There are ghosts here too.

I sit. I wait. I know the answers they expect. I will give them the answers they expect. Yes. No. Yes. Yes. No. No, I will not do it again. Yes, I will take my medication. Please, just please let me out. I'll behave. I promise I'll behave. I'll conform to the standards. I'll fit in your picture-perfect portrait. I'll conform. Please, just... please let me go. I cannot find shelter here either.

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