Prisoner

I feel like a prisoner in my own home.

I feel like a prisoner in my own mind.

I feel like a prisoner in the city I grew up in.

I feel like a prisoner in the life I am living.

 

It can’t go on like this. Every day I feel like I am losing another part of me. I feel like no matter what I do I will never be happy here. How can I be? After everything that has happened here, how can I ever feel free?

 

I would feel more freedom locked in a prison cell, in solitary confinement for the rest of my life. If I was there, I could truly be me. There would be no more worrying about who I may bump in to. No more panicking over the bad memories that are everywhere I turn.

 

I hate walking out of my front door, even when jumping into my car. I panic, not knowing what I might see, who might be there, what I may have to deal with. Walking to the shops is like torture for me. The constant anxiety, anger, upset and being scared. If I want a pint of milk, I panic. If I am hungry and need some food, I will go hungry for longer so as to avoid going out. This is no life.

 

I live here for the sake of another. They want me to stay, so I stay. My life has become theirs, my freedom: theirs. My choices: gone, my life: over.  They tell me to leave, be happy, all the while knowing that I can’t do it alone. Knowing that if I did leave I would lose everything. They refuse to leave. Though I have been promised it before, it was a lie. A horrible, cruel, taunting lie. A lie that has broken my world into pieces. I believed this lie, held on to it, in my darkest hours when I didn’t know how to go on, I repeated this lie and know it would work out in the end. Then the lie was shown as what it was, I no longer had that lie to hang onto. I no longer had a glimmer of hope to get me through these days.

 

I write to escape my life, to escape my lack of freedom. Writing gives me the chance to look beyond my world and see the possibilities that are out there. Writing allows me to forget, even just for a short moment, about my life, my worries, my anger.

 

I hate who I have become, I hate feeling like this, I hate every aspect of my life, I hate waking up and seeing nothing has changed, I hate going to bed knowing what tomorrow will bring, I hate looking out the window and seeing a bare brick wall, I hate hearing the sirens every few minutes, I hate how my neighbours are ignorant and rude, I hate how my past is at every turn, every corner, every sign.  The very name of this city brings tears to me, I hate how this makes me feel, how it makes me act. This is no life.

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