For many people Christmas is seen as a joyous time where you spend time with your family. Where gifts are exchanged and when we think about what we are greatful for. But for me Christmas has a different meaning.
To me it's a time to remember how much I hate my life; a time where I have to stay in this cold, dark, damp room only because other people find me weird.
Christmas to me is the same as every other day: wake up at 4:30am sharp, taken to get my medication, forced to talk to someone about what goes through my mind and back to my small room I sadly call home.
I'm not the only one who lives like this, there are many of us. We all live right next to each other in are own separate rooms. All identical, rows and rows of grey metal locked doors. Each one containing someone you would class as: Greek, psycho, mentialy unstable or creep.
We stay here all day long whilst you get to open presents and have a Christmas dinner with your family. We get beaten till our backs are raw, given zilch to each to eat and medication which they say to suppost to help.
Lies.
All lies.
The only thing that medication does is make us feel worse about our selves. It doesn't get rid of the voice inside my head telling me to do things, it doesn't stop the crazy hallucinations making everyone look like they've been half eaten. Nor does it make us feel like we are worth living.
The strange thing is that I was once able to enjoy the wonders of Christmas. There was a time where I used to go it in the snow with my sister. I was able to have a Christmas dinner, have fun with my family and believe in something like Santa.
But those day are gone, gone forever.
And why?
Just because I'm seen as mentialy unstable and have kill a few people. So what? Is that the only reason I'm not allowed to celebrate Christmas and have to live in this hell hole all my life?
I didn't choose to kill my younger sister, nor did I choose to see monsters everywhere I go. I didn't choose to have a voice inside my head telling to do things like:" Oh look, a baby. Let's go kill it." So why should I have to like this way.
Maybe next time you sit down next to the tree to see what Santa got you, you might thing about the people like me who aren't allowed to celebrate anything just because of out messed up minds. Maybe you'll think about the fact we can't enjoy the wonders of snow next time you have a snowball fight with your best mate Jerry.
But let's not get our hopes up. We all know that no one cares about us people in the mental asylum down the road from your house.
