The Ward

I started to take the pills again today.
One yellow, One blue, Three white.
Roger said I had to.
He said I shouldn't have stopped.
I told him I was fine, but he said,
No Melinda. No you are not fine.
I said,
I only saw him once, and this time I didn't talk back to him, just like you said!
and he said,
Melinda, if you saw him that is bad enough.
And I said,
But I don't see why it matters as long as I know he's not real!
And he said,
Melinda,
I'm concerned.


Concerned.
That's what he said.
So I took the pills again, even though I am certain that they are trying to trick me.
Even though they take away my pretty dreams, and replace them with grey ones.

Then, when I showed him that they were all gone, that they had all been swept down into the cavern of my mouth, Roger began to write more.

Write, write, write.
That's what Roger does.
He has a white pad, and a black pen.
The pen used to be green, but now it's black.
He says it's because the green pen died, but I'm pretty sure that it's because I told him that the green reminded me of spring, so he hid it.
They don't like us to think about spring.
They say,
Focus on yourself for now, spring will still be there when you are ready.
They say,
Maybe if you participate in group work, you will get a trip to the countryside to see some spring.
But they do not know.
They do not know that I have hidden a bit of spring.
That I stole the green house from the monopoly board during game time.
And that at lights-out, I hid it inside my vent by the door.
They never check there.

Roger says that I need to work more during group sessions.
I say,
You try having a decent conversation with a bunch of blithering idiots.
He says,
Melinda, those are good people. It's not right of you to call them names.
Then I say,
Fine, I will talk during group session if you give me your pad.
And he says,
Melinda, We've been over this before. This pad is mine. If you would like to write on your own there is paper and markers in the craft corner.
I will not. Go. To the craft corners.
Not by all the cutters and pasters.
They are even worse than the group session fools.
They just sit there and cut and paste and cut and paste.

At least they don't mumble though.
The mumblers are the very worst.
Them and the droolers.


Roger, he says that when I attack the ways that other people live, I am just trying to justify my own actions. But I'm pretty damn sure he's a nutter too.
All he does is write, write, write. Nod, nod, nod.
He could probably uses some decent therapy.

Honestly.
I'm really quite concerned.