I’ll sit here in this desperate chair thinking tainted thoughts. I’ll cultivate anger and contempt for all that has been lost. My mind is tired and distraught but still hasn’t learned to recede. It attacks my soul and dominates my thoughts till it has nothing to conceive. The room is dim and adds to the lingering sadness that permeates through my entire being. I sit here expressionless, waiting for some foreign light to cradle and nurture me back to health. Yet, I am all alone in this lonely and impersonal world. Not even I can begin to imagine the harm I’ve done to myself. Maybe one day fear will make an exodus from my soul and benevolence will consume me whole.
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Mad in America hosts blogs by a diverse group of writers. These posts are designed to serve as a public forum for a discussion—broadly speaking—of psychiatry and its treatments. The opinions expressed are the writers’ own.
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