Me, Myself, and I

I laid down on the soft bed that was in my room. I am alone, had no roommate. When I was sent to this mental ward I was worried that I was going to be stuck with some harder-to-crack nutcase. Not that I blame them for being mental, it's just it would make my experience in this place a lot harder than it has to be. It's been about a week or two. Maybe a month. I've lost track of time at this point. I'm not supposed to be here, my mental state is perfectly fine. The worst mistake I made was telling her about my capabilities.

Somehow I had to get out of here. Running away isn't an option certainly, guards are posted everywhere. I'm not sure if I even have a rational mind to plan an escape route due to how much sleep I have gotten since I've been here. The unsettling screams and hysterical laughter of the patients through the entire building echoed, making it hard to shut my eyes. Everyone is always staring at me, even the staff. I have a good feeling it's because of my incapability to see-at least through my eyes. Through my brain I can see the world perfectly fine and maneuver like any normal person can. I feel irritation as guards grab my shoulders to guide my way through the endless halls. I held my tongue, feeling that it wasn't in my best interest to resist in any sort of way.

I shivered, the ward always being cold. I was sitting down at a table, waiting for my lunch to be brought to me. I was displeased that even though I told them I can do everything that a non-blind person can perfectly fine, they still insist to personally help me. Saying that makes me sound like a five-year-old brat, but I don't like the thought of being disabled and not being able to do simple things on my own. Other patients sat down at other tables, it was quiet other than the slight murmur of everyone. The room was packed full of people, so if you were looking forward to sitting in solace, you're out of luck. It's basically an introvert's nightmare. The tables we sat at were round, and were made of polished wood. The seats were metal chairs, also highly uncomfortable. One of the staff placed a tray of food in front of me and left, in a rush. I was served mashed potatoes, green beans, and a piece of cornbread. I grabbed the plastic silverware laying on the table and ate the food in front of me, slowly chewing the dry food. I gulped down the bottle of water I was provided and shoved the plate in front of me. The patience in my table scrambled to get what's left of my food, acting like they haven't eaten in several years. I only ate half of the food I was given. A sick feeling in my stomach has been there ever since I've arrived. It was terrible, but I wasn't going to complain. I tell myself everyday that worse things could be happening to me, and that's what's keeping me forward. As usual, the burning sensation of stares were all around me. Everyone in this building acted like they had never seen a blind person before. Or perhaps they are surprised how well I'm doing for not being able to "see". I shouldn't blame them, being that they don't know what I can do.

In all honesty, not everyone here is off their rocker. I know a few people here that are somewhat decent, and those are the only people I socialize with. Every once in a while you'll find someone losing it and having to be constrained, but other than that it's pretty quiet and mellow. The way I'm describing this place sounds not so bad, which it isn't. Until you get to the staff that work here. There are only a select few staff members that aren't overly strict or that treat us poorly. Miss. Whitlock is my one and only favorite out of everyone. She's the one that talks to me and gives me my "medication". At first I didn't like her, only because I was frustrated with my current situation. But now that I'm settled and accepted my fate currently, I might be able to convince her I'm not mentally ill. She works closely with the boss of the ward, so maybe I can have her convince them to let me go. I don't know who the boss of this place is, or really anything other than the fact that he's the boss. Miss. Whitlock told me about him, but not really enough for me to depict who he really is. I don't even know their gender. Everyone refers to them as "they" or "their" as if they're trying to hide something. I could just be making unjustified theories that are not true, but it's just my opinion.

A screeching bell rang and everyone exploded out of their seats and rushed to their next destination. It felt almost like a school, but ten times worse. For the rest of the day, all the patients do small activities to cope with their mental illnesses. Those activities range from art, gardening, cooking, etc.. Again, everything is constantly monitored and you are constantly watched. You are expected to go to bed at a decent time and the staff wakes you up at eight in the morning, so disappointingly you can't sleep in. Not something I saw on my to-do list for my life, but I can't stop what has already happened. A constant buzz ran through my mind, and sometimes snippets of mental conversations from others will come through. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. I normally try not to invade others personal thoughts, but it slips through the cracks at times without my control. I have good control over it, but there's times where it has a mind of its own.

I fumbled with the sleeves of my plain white robe that I was wearing, I was tired, to go straight to the point. The entire day I felt like face planting onto the floor and never getting up. If I even did that everyone around me would have a cow, thinking I'm dead or something. I was back in my plain room, with minimal furniture and color. A soft bed was tucked in the corner of the small room, with a purple and white checkered pattern pillow and blanket on top of it. The walls were a calm grey, and there were no windows. I'm not even sure if I would want windows, for it might make me yearn for freedom even more. We were never allowed outside, and even outside activities were made inside. There was a small wooden desk on the opposite wall of where my bed was, and a wardrobe sat beside it. Overall, the room wasn't bad, livable, but also very solemn and lonely at times. I haven't been visited once by my only friend so far who knows what time I've been here. I told her, and she somehow got me to get sent here. I couldn't find it within myself to stay angry at her, after all I knew she was worried about my wellbeing. All the pent up stress from keeping all of those secrets about myself picked me apart, so I told her. I should've expected her to react this way. People have a hard time processing things that aren't in their control, or that they can't understand. People like me don't understand, so they send us to these places thinking it will "fix us" somehow. It's understandable, but it was easy for me to cope with because I was born with it, having it rooted in my life since day one. I'm not even sure if there are people like me out there, or that I'm the only one in the entire existence. Every night when I lie down to bed that's the things I contemplate about. If this happened to me, there's no way it haven't happened again. But I guess I will never know.

It was ten at night, and the building was quiet(other than the occasional screaming in the background). The lamp on my dresser was off, making my room settle in complete darkness. Other than the noise that the other patients make at night, the random dreams I have make me not want to sleep. They aren't necessarily nightmares, but they're so strange I can't decipher what is happening. Most of the time I forget all about them in the morning, but other times they still latch on to the back of my mind. I see faces I don't recognize, places I don't know, and other bazar things I can't even begin to describe. All I want is to get fresh air, but this place is keeping me from getting it. Thoughts cram into my mind, making my brain have an overload. I finally felt myself on the edge of sleep, slowly letting my consciousness slip away into my personal dreamland.