They call it home, but its far from it. The call us crazy, but I know they're lying. Lies, why is life ruled by lies? I wonder, if Death would be this unstable...
The white walls, the white floor, white ceilings. Hell, even the people that work here wear white coats. I have to wonder if the White House would be put to shame by this place. Sometimes, when I wake up and the worn and beaten mattress beneath me squeaks slightly, I have to wonder to myself if I'm still alive.
People say that at Heaven, God - the oh so high and mighty one, is there waiting for you, his arms open wide, ready to give you a embracing hug. A big white door would be placed in front of you, and fluffy clouds would surround you from all sides. Although, it's not a suffocating surrounding, a loving, and peaceful place, where nothing could go wrong. And life was peaceful, without Wars, and drugs, and Deaths.
But, with a start I would remind myself that there is no way that if I died I'd go to Heaven. Hell would be my first stop. Six feet under, torment for all of eternity. Where flames lick at my bare feet, and The Devil, Satan, whatever you call him would be sitting there, a devilish grin upon his lips. Horns sticking out of the sides of his red skin covered head, and a large pitch fork-like object will be held in his demon grasp. As he watches you, a knowing glint in his blood red eyes.
But, again, almost as if I can't get away from reality, I would be reminded that I'm still alive. Flesh and Bones, forced to live on this planet called Earth. Where people are killing, and dying. Almost without a care in the world
Some times I would ask myself, why am I still here? Then I realize, that my Sins, as the Doctors would call then, aren't forgiven. And so, we are to stay here, in their make-shift Heaven until we break free. Well, that's what they tell us, but I think they only say that so we will turn to God. But, I can proudly say, without a second thought that I follow no one. This is my life, and I am forced to stay here. Not much of a free will, is it?
I sometimes wonder; is Death this unstable, is it this cruel. With so many rules, and laws. Would our life still be timetabled, where everything is planned out from the time we wake up in the morning to the time we fall asleep? I should tell myself off for thinking these thoughts, but I think, they're the only thing that keeps me sane. Talking to myself, having deep and meaningful convocations. Well, even though the Doctors don't exactly agree with us on the 'sane' part. I know, and I believe that I am not crazy. I don't care what happens to me, I will never label myself as crazy. Never, never, never.
As you might of already guess, or maybe not. I've been living in a Psychiatric Asylum for over, well, It seems like years. But we don't really get to see calendars that often in here. Although, we get told many of the normal, worldwide celebrations, like Christmas, New Years, ect. But, I have to ask myself, why don't we get calendars, it's not like we're going to be planning our escape. With all the guards around the place, we'd be lucky to get to the toilet without being searched and questioned.
Anyway, I over heard the Doctors, and they said that I'm 19 years old, and if I arrived in this hell hole at about 16.. That means I've been here for 3 years. Wow, and believe it for not, apart from the usual therapist, doctors, and people who have to check up on you, my friends and family have only visited 6 times. And that was awhile ago. How sad is that?
But, I can't really blame them. I mean, I've been stuck here for 3 flippen' years, "Not showing any progress in recovery," I hear the Doctors say. How I've been able to survive for this long, even I don't know!
The click-clack of shoes is heard down the hallway, and judging by the strength, and the rhythm, I can immediately know who it is. Not bragging or anything, but when one is packed up in this Jail Cell-like room, with nothing to do. You do tend to get bored, and pay attention to the smaller things.
Just like the rest of the place, my room is all white, although it's a bit grubby, and I'm not surprised. Unlike the rooms that the newest members of our oh-so-loving family, my room doesn't have a large wall, with a mirror. And any person, that could count up to 5 would know that it's a double sided vision. Just so the Doctors could keep a close eye on you, so you don't do anything stupid.
My room is squire shape, a large door is placed on one of the walls, and opposite that door is a large window, with jail-cell bars connected to it (So we don't attempt to jump out of it). The morning sun is shining through the window, but the bars cut off half the warmth. (There would be a curtain, but I pulled it down and ripped it to bits about a month ago.) My bed, if you could even call it that (It's practically just a headboard, and a leg board with wood under it with a mattress on top), the head of it is pushed against the wall with the window, and the side of it is pushed against a different wall.
The other wall, there is a old desk, with stacks of scrap paper and pencils, pens, and crayons scattered everywhere. That's what we got for entertainment, although I wont complain, since I got to work on my writing (diary entries, and book-in-making) and drawings. And one day, when I get out of here, I want to become a artist, and publish a novel, and in gold letters at the bottom it would say; 'By Kagome.'
The click-clack sound stopped suddenly as I was rudely pulled out of my deep and meaningful convocation with myself when a knock echoed through my room. A man, he must be in his mid 60's walked in. Like all the other Doctors he wore a white lab coat, which reminded me faintly of them 'Mad Scientist' cartoons that I use to love watching in my younger years. His white hair was combed into a boyish look, which in my option- looked extremely ridiculous. A pair of bottle-top glasses sat at the end of his nose as he gave me a kind smile. A clip board was being held in his hands, and a white badge with the name 'Doctor Retmut' was pinned onto his breast pocket.
"Good Morning," he said, still smiling and I couldn't help but wonder how someone could be so smiley in the morning, "How are you feeling this morning, Kagome?"
I had to bite my tongue, or else I would of replied with a sarcastic remark. Talking to me in the morning was not a good idea, and this dude who has been working here, for ages (he was here when I arrived) should know that. I just simply muttered, 'Fine.'
He jolted something down, "That's good. Well, I just came in to tell you that breakfast is almost ready, and you and your group have that exciting jog today," he stopped talking for a second, almost as if I was a child and he was waiting for it to sink into my brain. I was going to respond although it wouldn't of been a nice reply. I mean, we're here for emotion/physical/mental problems, we're not babies, but he quickly continued, "Oh, and your last counselor left, for unknown reasons," he glanced at me, as I just looked around innocently, "and because of that I have found you a new one. You'll be able to meet him today."
Without giving me time to protest he quickly dashed towards the exit. I just glared at the door. That's one of the many things that pisses me off about this place; You drive one annoying, stupid, asshole away, and they get another one! You'd think they'd learnt that I was stubborn after the first year.
Sure, I had problems, that's why I'm here. But I really, really, really, didn't want to share them with anyone else. Especially some no-good, people that try and break you down. My problems are mine, no one else's! These people can take away anything of ours, but they can't make us talk under our free will. And if they use any drugs to make us talk, they can be in serious Dog Shit.
Sure I may be childish with all of this, but this is just me, Kagome. It's my personality, and I'm not going to be changing' any time soon.