But it's home to me, and has been for three years now, and likely will be for the rest of my life.
They said it would be better than prison, but honestly, I don't see how prison could be any worse than this place.
I spend most of every day confined to this unbearably small, concrete room. No friends, nothing to do to while away the endless hours. The only taste of freedom I ever get is exercise hour, and even then I'm kept under close supervision behind the chain-link fence of the hospital lawn.
At night, I am put to bed with restraint cuffs locked around my wrists and ankles, as if I would actually attempt to do anything, with cameras in the room watching my every move. There is no privacy here.
"It's for your own protection," they say.
Protection?
They have already gone to extreme measures to prevent suicides; even if I wanted to kill myself, I'd have nothing to do it with. No ropes or cords, no sharp objects, nothing. They even keep everyone's hair cut nearly to the scalp because of a girl who lived here back in the seventies, who somehow managed to strangle herself using her own long hair.
I still haven't figured that one out.
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