Bittersweet

I paced in my room, back and forth like a tiger in a cage. I flinched slightly, looking out the window, counting cars that went by and taking note of their colors, just for the fun of it. My medication makes me drowsy, and my bed looked particularly inviting, despite it being but a simple mattress with light sheets on top. My roommate was taking her shower, and I would be taking mine after her. The past night was but a blur, all I could remember was the constant push and shove attitude of the workers and the policemen.1

No, I hadn't done anything wrong. The reason I was locked up there was purely innocent, I happened to have what most would call 'issues'. It made me feel so out of place and different. I knew my life would never be the same again. At the moment, I just wanted to be alone. I didn't want the staff checking up on me every couple of moments, to make sure I hadn't attempted to asphyxiate myself or something of the like. Of course, I'd never do that, I'm not suicidal at all. I simply stretched that part of the story I told to my therapist, to garner the attention that I needed so much.2

Alright, I'll admit, I have thought of ending it all, but that would be weak. I would never do something so pathetic; suicide is for losers, and I am not a loser. As a glanced out the window, I began to wonder if, with a good deal of force, I could break it and escape. Though that may be a good way to assure myself (and perhaps others) that I'm still powerful despite this disgrace, it would be rather stupid. I love being in control, I crave power and I crave command, it's all part of the package. My life is such a wreck, I suppose I feel that if I can control other people's lives, I can forget about being in control of my own.3

Schizophrenia can do many a strange thing to you. I experience all sorts of these delusions of grandeur, I hear those pesky voices that come from seemingly nowhere, and of course I see things that no one else can see. Worst of all, I am paranoid. I rarely left my house, I slowly began to withdrawal and stop speaking to my so-called friends (of course I now know, my friends were never my friends at all.) Speaking of that, I would love to take a minute to explain how I was betrayed by the ones I trusted and looked up to, how they turned their backs on me and abandoned me. But I shouldn't waste your time with petty complaints, should I?4

As of today, I have no friends, I can't trust enough to befriend anyone. That's the tragedy of it, I'll be living a long, lonely life without anyone. Ah, well, I suppose that's not entirely true. There is a single person I can trust, and that's my younger sister, Megan. I've never so close a bond with anyone as I have with her, she's my light in the darkness I guess you could say. Of course, as with all siblings, we have our share of spats and disagreements, but in the end, we're best friends 'til the end.5

My friend stepped out of the bathroom, drying her hair with what seemed to be the smallest towel known to man. "You can go in now," she said to me. I nodded, whispered a raspy 'thank you', and walked in. The bathroom had no lock on it, which came as a bit of a surprise, considering practically everything here was locked. Did I mention we were told we couldn't go outside? I knew as the days passed the other patients and I would grow restless without any exposure to the outside world. Why should we have to pay for someone else's mistake? It wasn't like we were the ones who had jumped the fence in order to escape.6

I looked at myself in the mirror. I was sporting an apathetic look, my face as monotonous as my voice was described to be. I looked so very ordinary, I had a bothersome case of acne like many other teens, my hair was nothing special, I was nothing special. That is, at least not on the outside. but there was something in my eyes that gave it all away away. It was a gleam, a psychotic gleam that would send shivers down any normal human being's spine.7

But I loved it, I embraced my insanity, because my illness is so misunderstood that for once in a lifetime, I'm feared. I'll never feel weak nor helpless again because I am the one who is in control. Once I'm let out of my cage, there are endless things I can do. Suddenly, my so-called impairing disorder is now the fuel in my ambition. Yes, this time I will be in control, no matter what.8

I strip down to nothing, fold my standard psychward clothing and set it to the side. I turn on the water, which is strikingly cold at first (the same words could be used to describe my thoughts.) I step inside, letting the water run down my body as my mind wandered. I had become my illness, I was letting it take over my mind. I was powerful, I was powerful.9

But what would I do with my newfound power? There were so possibilities but one stood out among the others. Revenge. Of course, why not get back at the ones who wronged me? The ones who so coldly tossed me aside, took advantage of me and my naturally kind disposition, they would be for what they did to me. I was not going to take it anymore. 10

Psychopathy is bittersweet, revenge is a dish best served cold, and I am more than willing to let the both consume me.