I'm extremely claustrophobic.
However I stand in my home, whether I'm by a window or a door, I feel as if it will close and I will be trapped. Mom said it was just the medication but I know...
I know it's more than that. There are things I see and things I think that aren't to be spoken about, if I did utter them then I would be pushed out of my home again and thrown into that prison. Asylums/hopsitals- what ever you want to name them, they are meant to help however mine did not. My experiences varied spontaniously. Some days I would walk through the gardens in peace and other days I would curl in on myself and refuse to move.
Rule #1: You do not do that.
I was dragged from my safe corner and made to participate in pointless activities. "Opening up helps." My nurse would say. I did not want to open up, neither did I feel like moving from the darkness that welcomed me so formally; it was my depression and it was so sweet sounding and hypnotizing.
I don't feel like going through everything that happened in that place, the memories are often blurred and don't make a lot of sense, and most of time there I spent on my own, if not being forced to speak to 'other people just like me'.
Claustrophobia is something I perhaps plucked from my experience there: sitting in the corner of four walls, all pale blue and welcoming, yet dark and hellrising. I sit in my bedroom and mistake where I am, soon coming to terms that I am no longer in that hell and I am at home, which is possibly no different.
I moved all of my things to one side of my room so I have a corner to sit in, so I can see the world just from this little space of mine. I created this space, it is mine and nobody can touch me here.
