Unravel

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I gaze out the window at thousands of snowflakes fluttering to the ground. I press my face against the pane, aching for freedom. But it isn’t a thin layer of glass that’s blocking me from the outside, it’s the truth.

Most people believe the truth is a delicate little bird. They think it’s harmless.

But I know something they don’t.

If they dare to move their hands away from their body, they’ll discover that the little bird is gone. It’s torn their skin apart, traveled to the core of their souls, right where it hurts the most.

And that’s why I’m here and they aren’t.

I press my forehead against the window and breathe on the glass. Mist forms and my tally appears. I put another mark on the glass. Thirty days.

Thirty days since I’d been involuntarily admitted to Fairfax Mental Health Institute.

720 hours of opening my eyes every morning to an unfamiliar room. 720 hours of having nurses coming in and out of my room every hour. 720 hours of being monitored around the clock like I’m a toddler and can’t be trusted.

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