Another scream essay: Scream_1

These essays are an attempt to "scream" in text, to give an idea about my life, and its agonies.

My pain puts me in a literal straitjacket. As a gimp, or detainee, I’m perfectly capable, with assistance, but for actual living of life, I’m perfectly detained. Contained. Same difference. I look at you and I feel love, and I want to bring you happiness, or help, friendship, and justice, but all those parts of me, those are prevented by the straitjacket. And that’s before some asshole tries popping me full of antipsychotics or mood stabilizers, to add a chemical straitjacket. My arms are bound, so I can’t touch you; the jacket is thick canvas, so you can’t touch me. All I’ll ever feel is the rough canvas, skinning me completely, in areas rough, and sensitive; and all I’ll hear is the laughter of the guards.