Look out, here comes a big dump.
Not all prisons are full of impenetrable bars. My prison is a 1 bedroom apartment, on the 3rd floor of an assisted living facility, my crime...I am sick (a sick heart and at one point over-prescribed pain killers for a fractured spine that was never diagnosed). I did not do anything wrong, but I did do quite a few things other people thought was wrong and they were afraid I might accidentally harm myself. Without my consent or asking what I wanted to do, I was placed here in an assisted living facility that is more like a padded 1-bedroom jail. I miss my life, I miss my home and I miss Skip. I miss my friends and family, but they all have lives of their own. I cannot ask them to rearrange their wonderful busy lives for me when I can not reciprocate. Everything I had and have that brought me love and life has been replaced by this place...and I have come to hate it and the life I have in it. I have no choice about what to do with my life and I do not know how much longer I can do this. Well, I guess until my money runs out or I an dead. I hope 1 runs out before the other. I would rather spend the money I have now to play, create and be with family and friends. This is not the life I want.
I feel like a 15-year-old adolescent who has been restricted. The difference is that this is not a bedroom or a prison but an apartment. I have tried to be a part of this community to make everyone happy. But it isn't working Bingo, childish crafts, puzzles and Rumi cube do not make me happy. This is not the life I ever wanted. I am not living, I am just here.
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