Trapped

Four stark white walls surround me, a white roof is over my head and a white floor beneath my bed. I’m trapped, unable to escape this room. I can cry, wish, and hope, but it won’t help. I’m still trapped, and this is my prison.

And the worst part of it all is that there are no bars on the windows or locks on the door. I can stare out the window and have an unobstructed view of the park down below, or open the door and look out in the corridor. And yet, I’m trapped. If someone else was trapping me here, I might be able to bear it better. If nothing else, I could rant and rage against them, screaming and shouting myself hoarse, taking comfort that they at least at to endure the noise. But no, I’m trapped here by me. By this body, this physical shell…

I will never run again, or feel the wind against my face as I chase my friends across the playground. I will never dance again, never feel the adrenaline rush that comes from performing on a stage to a crowd. I will never swim again, feeling the silkiness of the water as it flows around over my skin. I will never fall in love or feel a man’s lips on mine. I will never…I will never…I will never…I will never.

I can do nothing but lie here, day after day, with no end in sight and no hope of salvation. The only sound is the humming of the life support to which I am connected, and to which I will be connected for the rest of my life. To leave this bed would be to condemn myself to death, and yet there are times when I am not sure that it would not be the better choice. Sometimes, I’d prefer to end my suffering now, rather than let it drag on for the next fifty years.