Locked Away

    It's dark outside. At lest I think it's dark outside. I don't have windows, not anymore, not after I cracked mine months ago. Then I pried a corner piece off and used it for relief.
    It took the nurses two weeks before they realized I'd relapsed into a new habit. Once they noticed thought they drugged me up for a week and threw me into solitary. They took me off the drugs after what felt like maybe a week, but I stayed in solitary for a month.
    I couldn't not take the drugs they handed me or else I would have started ripping my toe nails off. Anything to feel something, even if it's just pain. Finally they brought me back out to 'socialize' really by that point though they could have just left me in solitary.
    I'd pretty much turned into a mute by then, never speaking, only ever writing in a journal that never leaves my sight. They'll read it when I die. Try to decipher all the cryptic meanings and pointless symbolism. They'll think oh a birds mentioned, that must mean freedom was longed.
    Really though, I'm just tired of not feeling anything. I take the drugs they hand me to suppress the voices. but thier side effect is numbness. Guess it doesn't really matter if the only things I tend to feel are self-hatred and sadness. Still, this in my hands almost brings a smile to my slack face. In my hands is a hand made rope made from rags and pillowcases, tightly wound and tied together to be the base for my final act.
    Honestly, this was the easiest part of my two part plan. The second part involved getting screen time and trying to memorize how to do a hangman's knot without anyone noticing what I was really looking at. All tricky, it took over two weeks, but I finally did it. In my hands lay a sturdy hangman's knot and I knew that today i was finally going to feel.
    What though? Does it really matter? Regret, remorse, sadness, pain, I'd take anything by this point. There is little I care about. I secure the handmade rope, hang off of it for a moment to see if it won't snap immediately. It holds. I pull over my night stand, so it's right underneath and stand atop it.
    Shouldn't I feel some sort of hesitation or sadness? There's nothing though. I bring the rope over my neck, fasten it and stand on the edge. Aren't i suppose to have some deep and meaningful silent thoughts? But I can't, there's nothing to say. I've been here for what's felt like decades, I haven't seen family in forever and the only person I cared about is dead. There's nothing left to say. I tip over the table and immediately I feel the pressure on my wind pipe, before there's a snap.
    Two hours later a nurse walks in ready to hand over nr. 52 meds. Usual routine stuff, instead of finding the patient curled up in bed writing away in a secret journal, a cooling body hangs from a rope.
    Another soul gone from the world, because they didn't receive the help they needed. Instead they were locked away as to not disturb the normal people of the world.