My mind is a Prison

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Psychologist notes:

First name: John

Middle name: James

Last name: Harding

M/F

Parents/ Guardians

Suanne Mary Fredrick Harding, Gerard Fred Harding

Suffering from: Irrational paranoia.  Post-traumatic stress

notes: if traumatic stress persists further and continues to affects his capacity to function. The person would have a strong desire for emotional catharsis.

In the dark closed cell, beyond the  barred window the twinkle of fading stars caught my eye , the moon’s light was brought into the room as I laid on the  bed thinking about my revenge that I got back on the person who pushed me to the ground and made me watch my best friends murder. I don’t have any scars to prove what they did but I know they did it, and I also know they can’t stand my existence. I am alone in this world. I had never had a friend except her; my only friends now are those voices in my head and my psychologist. The voices is a child’s little chant, but the chant always comforts me. It went something like this:

“Here we go around the prickly pear, prickly pear, prickly pear. Here we go around the prickly pear at five o’clock in the morning.”

The chanting never bothered me.

Every night I have nightmares of that horrific tragedy, and every day I have visions every time I try to think clearly I see the image that is burned into my mind. My mind seems, “when it seemed, the tension could last no longer without it’s bursting into a thousand-voiced screams”. People believed that I have problems. My psychologist says I’m a resentful stalker and I’m suffering from irrational paranoia, but I’m not, they took the only thing that meant anything to me, even without physical scars, I know what they did. They got what they deserved.

As I lay in the jail cell’s bed, “my heart grew sick; it was the smell” of the metal bars and the bad odder of the other prisoners and my fear of being sentence to life in an asylum made it so. I try to keep myself calm and contained, but the voices in my head are always there. I looked out the window into night.

I love the night darkness; no one will ever understand the beauty of the night. I love it because the only light is the moon light. It’s just as beautiful as the sun. It’s not as bright but it’s even more beautiful. I like to gaze the stars in the universe, I remind myself that remember darkness does not always equate to evil, just has light does not always bring good. “Laying the cells bed, “a cynical smirk laid upon my lips,” thinking they deserve what they got.

Tomorrow is the day that I stand in trial for the revenge on them, the consequence I have to suffer, but they are the ones to suffer. But will they lie, will they tell the truth, I thought. Will their truth be painful? Will I lie and tell them what the judge want to hear?  Will my lie be beautiful? But what if I was dreaming about the accident? What if I am suffering from irrational paranoid and now I am paying the consequences for ‘getting back’ at those who hurt me? “The feeling was infernal.” Will this be the end for me as I am paying the consequence for hurting those who didn’t actually me? Is jail a place for me or “disappearing utterly from earth for good” such as death?

The voices stop singing, but said something else that they never said before, and it’s scaring me:

“This is the way the world ends; this is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but with a whimper.”

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⏰ Last updated: May 02, 2014 ⏰

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