I once spent time in a mental hospital. It was the best and worst experience of my life.
| As I sit here, on this sterile bed, in this tiny room, behind the rows of locked doors, I look at myself. I am bleeding, bruised, and scarred, all on the outside as well as the inside. I sit beneath the bright hospital lights, and I wonder . . . how did I end up this way? How did I become this broken person that I am today? Hah, if person is even the right word to describe. At the moment, I don't really feel like a whole person. I feel somehow less, like a part of me is missing. I just don't know what it is.
I can't seem to recall when or where I lost it. I wonder if I will ever ger it back, or maybe it's just broken, like me. All I really know right now is that I would give up anything in the world just to get it back. Then, maybe I could feel whole again . . . but I doubt it. There are some days that I look in the mirror, and I see myself, but I don't really see ME. On days like that, I can't help but wonder if I didn't just lose a piece of me. Maybe I lost all of me. Could it really be that I have completely lost myself?
If, during this strange journey that has been my life, I somehow lost myself along the way, then I have been asking myself the all wrong questions. The question is no longer when, where, how, or why I have become this thing that I am today. The real question is what have I become? If I'm not myself anymore, then who am I?