Something Is Holding Me Back

Self-Fulfilling Prophesy       “Are you here to take me away again?”

            “Where do you think you are going?”

            “Back.  Back to that place, with the funny smell and big men in white pants and white shirts.  The place where you bring my food tray to me after the man with the clip board says it’s okay to.  The place where chicken wire is inbred in the windows and you can’t find a clear spot to look, watch life, veiled in four or five seasons, pass you by.  It becomes so unbearable that you stop trying, you lie down, and they talk to you.  They don’t think you can hear them, so they’re honest, repulsive and beautiful.  Soon you cannot take it anymore; you turn your back, wave them off, but they keep coming, keep talking.  Finally you explode and they call the big men in white pants and white shirts to put you in your place, and you only want to be left alone. 

            “They never get the hint.  They only want to administer shots until my behavior is modified to their liking and then their desires change because they are the real ones that need to be strapped down and gagged and drugged and bored to death with obvious questions and stories about the absence of a sex life.  They drive you and drive you until you are too ’zoombied’ to fight, too exhausted to resist.  You give in, collapse.  And the comments and evaluations cease to matter; you go deaf to the prognoses and the medical opinions based on words written on paper by a hand that has never been starved, betrayed, rejected, or taken for granted, to the point of being ready to scream out in physical and verbal lashes.  This is what they are waiting for: the perfect excuse to wipe you out, permanently, as an individual.  If you’re lucky, a few memories will remain, to remind you that you once lived, had an identity, aspirations and desires.  Otherwise, you’re pretty much fucked, as I was told.