Escaping My Own MindA Story by Casey FrancisMy book has been missing for weeks now. I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find it anywhere. My therapist thinks I’m getting worse. She says there are signs showing that I’m not making much progress anymore. I keep telling her it’s because of the book. I tell her that ever since I lost the book I’ve been getting worse. She sees how urgent I am to find the book. That book helps me escape. It gives me hope. I don’t know how many times I’ve read it. It really helps me. I need to find my book. “Look out the window. What do you see?” My therapist asked. “Freedom.” I reply, still staring. I desperately wish to get out of this place. Not the building, I mean this imaginary prison I can feel around me wherever I go. I long to escape, to see things that no one would ever imagine. I want to get out of here. I want to escape to a paradise like the one in my book. There, you can turn stones into butterflies and vines into snakes. Your wildest dreams come true, all you have to do wish. The river shows you what you truly want, the fog consists of gold ground into such a fine dust it floats in the air and leaves your skin glowing and shimmering. I want to escape to a place that’s like that for me. I read the book and my mind is at peace. I don’t worry about things when I read. I just imagine what it would be like to go to a place so magical and carefree. “Grace?” I suddenly come back to reality as my therapist rips my daydream from me with her obnoxious voice. I slowly turn my head to look at her, leaving my hopes of escaping on the window sill. “What?” I ask. “I’ve been trying o talk to you for a few minutes now and you didn’t answer. What were you thinking about?” She continued to pester me. “I wasn’t thinking. Thinking is torture. Logic itself is a prison inside a person’s own mind. Why would I think? I don’t want to think. I just want to live. I’m trapped in a prison I can’t even see and there’s no way out for me. Suicide isn’t even an option anymore,” I replied looking her dead in the eyes. “You’ve considered suicide? Why? What’s so wrong with life that you would ever even think of doing that?” She shot her questions at me as if they were nine milometer bullets for that little 9 mil pistol she has somewhere in the bottomless pit of her purse, along with her concealed carrier license. My
book has been missing for weeks now. I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t
find it anywhere. My therapist thinks I’m getting worse. She says there
are signs showing that I’m not making much progress anymore. I keep
telling her it’s because of the book. I tell her that ever since I lost
the book I’ve been getting worse. She sees how urgent I am to find the
book. That book helps me escape. It gives me hope. I don’t know how many
times I’ve read it. It really helps me. I need to find my book. “Yes I have. Life is so utterly pointless and bland it would make no difference if I were dead. The world around me is dead. I’m surrounded by morons with scarcely any common sense as they try to live life like the typical drug addict teen parent. Do you know how many times I’ve been told to be a normal teenager? Neither do I. There’s too many times to count. It gets on my nerves and it frustrates me to no end. What is a normal teenager anyway? I’m sorry I’m not normal. I don’t want to be normal. I like the way I am. I plan to stay that way. I don’t care who it is that asks me to change, I will not,” and with that, I didn’t talk for the rest of the session. My book has been missing for weeks now. I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find it anywhere. My therapist thinks I’m getting worse. She says there are signs showing that I’m not making much progress anymore. I keep telling her it’s because of the book. I tell her that ever since I lost the book I’ve been getting worse. She sees how urgent I am to find the book. That book helps me escape. It gives me hope. I don’t know how many times I’ve read it. It really helps me. I need to find my book. If I can’t find my book soon I feel I may just lose my mind and begin ripping my hair out. Yes, I realize I am depressed. It’s not my fault, you know. I live in a world with hardly any common sense and it drives me insane seeing that I am one of the only mature, logical people left on the face of the planet. I feel that I have no one. The book gives me something to relate to. The main character is much like me and I understand how she feels. This book was given to me a long time ago. Its spine has had its fair share of opening, closing, and bending of the book. I read the book and I see that the main character has an old soul. She is merely sixteen and looks upon the world with such wisdom and age as if she were a wise hundred year old woman who’s seen the wonders, terrors, lessons, and tests of the world trapped in the poor girl’s body. That’s how I feel. That’s also what I’ve been told. Do you know what age I was told that at? Between the ages of five and eight was when I was told that. I’m sixteen now. I don’t believe it. I want to act sixteen, not old and wise. I want to be foolish and crazy and have fun. My mind won’t let me escape. The only way is to escape my mind. There’s only one way out. We all know the horrific way that is, and we all fear that the depressed will choose to do that to escape. I’m choosing to and I’ll finally be free. I will finally escape. © 2013 Casey FrancisFeatured Review
Reviews
|
Stats
271 Views
4 Reviews  Last Updated on December 27, 2013 Author
Casey FrancisSapulpa, OKAboutI'm seventeen. My full name is Cassandra Lynne Francis. I'm really open and sort of awkward, but isn't everyone? I love writing. It's always been a passion of mine. I hope everyone enjoys my work! more..Writing
|
![[send message]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/mail.png){kind=small}
![[befriend]](https://www.writerscafe.org/images/friend.png){kind=small}
Share This
Email
Facebook
Twitter
Read Request
My Library
Flag Writing