Fragmented Mind

                                          Decietfully Imprisoned by a Fragmented Mind

Banished to a place where keyless steel doors lock from the inside and out.  Punished for living in the wild because the wild is in me. We are the same. Now I am forced to live among a kind because I resemble them.  Twenty-four other men and women (at least that is what I think they are) pace the halls in this lonely place.  

Voices are constantly speaking words that mean nothing to me.  Eyes are all around me; even in the walls and in the ceiling of this place I refuse to make my home.  A number has been assigned to my name and a bed for my head.  My room is the only place where no one is watching.

 If I wasn’t paranoid from my own delusional thinking when I arrived, I certainly am now. Not only is the Universe plotting to kill me, but now forces beyond my control have limited the places I can hide. The shadows of trees that sheltered me from harsh elements and nurtured my soul are now replaced with heartless wood that had been slaughtered and stripped from the only place I felt at home. The place where the songbirds sing their lullabies.

The ladies in blue say they can help me with the whispers that are slewing violent thoughts inside my head.  I don’t believe they can be silenced for long.  This diagnosis hovers like a vulture circling its prey.

When the brilliant warmth of the day begins to settle from the solitary window in the common place of this heartless home, this weary body retreats to a territory marked by my name written in pink:    Robin (Thrush).  A name that no longer suits the creature I have become.  The melodies I used to whistle are no longer in harmony with the voices in my head. 

Tender bones sit in silence as the dirty, yellow, heartless walls inside my room start to enclose on me.  The air is fleeting.  I fear demons on the other side are trying to escape from within the walls.  Their faces leave impression marks as they try to beat their way through the pale yellow that surrounds me. Paranoia is accelerating. Visual and auditory hallucinations are my reality.

Whispers are inviting me to join them down the hallway. They want me to come out and play in the playground they call Freedom, but the brown trim on the doorway in my room snarls at me as I try to cross the threshold. 

The banging, the clanging, the knocking, the bodies, the different tones of voices talking over one another,  the screaming and crying are increasing the insanity that put me here in the first place.

I need to escape this growing hysteria- this madness that the ladies in blue say, "only exists in my mind.”

 I scream, cover my ears so tightly that fingernails pierce my lobes. Streams of moisture tickle my neck. I find a rhythmic beat as my forehead repeatedly kisses the yellow, heartless walls.  The creatures on the other side begin to caress my mind, but their comforting touch quickly turns to envious groping.  An explosion of betrayal destroys what's left of my security, my nest.  A thick, dark smoke rapidly fills my room and begins to encompass me. I am suffocating from thoughts entangled in my mind. Constant clatter bangs off the inner parts of my head like bats flying in a cave without direction.

This peculiar aberration has left me abandoned and shackled in the prison of my mind. The only thing my fertile womb is left to nurture are the fantasies I believe to be real.

The corridors outside my room show no mercy.  Words bounce off them only to deceive.

For a moment there is silence, then clarity.  I snarl back at the brown trim on the doorway and cross the line from my room; my mind. Like a convict wishing for freedom, I run toward the double doors that are locked on both sides, only to be tackled to the ground by the ladies in blue.  They take me back to my room where the demons live inside the dirty, yellow, heartless walls.

Faces above me are stripped of kindness.  I am bound by my arms and legs- hopeless and left vulnerable to the walls that are trying to kill me.

My body yearns for a gentle touch but the ladies in blue dominated my flesh with an agression that letft marks on my limbs that resemble the milky way of the earth’s nightime sky.

Restrained against my will, my limbs are tingling, my body quivering.

My wings have been clipped before I ever learned to fly. 
A faceless Healer in white claims my tender bones will not return to a world of normalcy and my mind will not thrive without His potion. 

                                          These are not paranoid illusions- They are real!

              I am not delusional, I am the master who can set myself free.

 How can I become victorious if I am locked in a room with yellow, heartless walls that contain demons who wish nothing more than to take my freedom away?

My mind is running a marathon but my body has been forsaken.  The demons have sunk their teeth into my flesh and tainted the blood flowing in my veins.

Their razor sharp teeth inject poisonous venom into what’s left of my body; cold, paralyzed-

I have become nothing more than another frozen face residing in a lonely place; baron, destitute of Mother Earth's comforts, left with a mind deprived of potential, and chemically altered with the evil potions of man. 

Lobster Tale

                                              

            Throw him to me!  Sheer anxiety swept over me with the thought of tossing my two year son overboard into the middle of the ocean.  I felt the heat get hotter on my back.  My heart was pounding so fast I thought it might explode with the same intensity as a race horse would dart from the starting gate at the sound of a gunshot.  I trusted that the ocean deep and the creatures that lived within it would protect us.  As I held my breath, I tossed my son into the sea and franticly watched as the orange life vest carried him to the surface.  My friend quickly grabbed him.  Without further hesitation I jumped into the warm waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

We were ninety miles from Cuba and 10 miles from American soil.  The August sun was exceptionally hot in the Florida Keys.  There were five of us, including my two-year-old boy, Kyle, on an undersea hunt for spiny lobster.  It was legal to catch up to six lobsters per day for each diver during lobster season as long as they were at least three inches long.

We were on day three of our lobster excursion.  The small, sweet, mouth-watering creature had been our dinner the night before and lobster sandwiches were packed in a cooler on the boat for lunch.  The thirty foot vessel was anchored above a shallow coral reef off the coast. There was no land in sight.  We had three licensed divers on board which allowed us to legally bring in eighteen spiny lobsters.  By late afternoon we had thirteen of these pale, orange bottom feeders who lived in cracks and crevasses of the coral reef bed.  They are good at hiding.  The underwater view is so busy with vibrant colors and creatures right at our fingertips.  The occasional hammerhead shark even took me by surprise a few times as it swam above me.  Catching spiny lobsters is not really difficult.  When I found a hole I thought could have a lobster hiding, I would take my stick and poke in the crevasse or hole and when the shy little creature emerged from its hiding spot, I would grab it with my free hand by the abdomen or tail and put it into a mess bag with the others until I resurface.

As the last diver came back from a twenty-five minute underwater hunt, he brought aboard five more lobsters.  Our quota was met and it was time to head back to shore. The ship was underway.  Kyle was sitting on the floor of the boat playing with a rope that was as thick as the baby rolls on his thighs.  The Captain was feasting on his third lobster sandwich of the day while he was amidships at the controls.  His son who was named after him, Danny, was sunbathing at the stern of the ship.  My girlfriend and I enjoyed the breeze and playfulness of a two year.  Five minutes into our journey back to land, the boat started to automatically shut down and we noticed a strange smell.  Within minutes there was smoke coming from the center of the boat.  I grabbed my son, who was sporting nothing but a pair of pull-ups and a bright orange life vest, and followed the rest of the crew to the front of the vessel.  The Captain remained behind to further investigate the reason for smoke.  When flames started to become visible my girlfriend jumped overboard.  Throw him to me, throw Kyle now!  It was one of the hardest things I had to do but I had no choice. I ran my fingers through his curly hair, kissed his damp forehead and threw him into the water.  I jumped off the port bow side next.

My friend’s teenage son jumped after me.  The Captain, who had a short attention span and loved his food as much as his boat, did not want to leave the live lobsters behind.  He scurried to find a way to retrieve a different cooler, which housed the lobsters, through the small flames that were progressively getting higher.  We screamed from the water to jump.  When he finally realized the eighteen lobsters would have to stay behind, he ran to the bow of the boat still holding a piece of food in one hand.  He paused to put the last big bite of his lobster sandwich into his mouth, and then proceeded to join us in the warm, saltwater of the ocean deep.  The look on the captain’s face while he was treading water, was as if he just lost the love of his life.  I believe he grieved not only for his vessel that was being consumed by the sea but mostly for the trapped little creatures he had left behind.

 Within minutes there were three men on jet-skis surrounding us.  I heard a loud noise as the waters got choppy.  I looked up to the sky to see a helicopter with a brilliant blue back drop hovering above us.  Fear and confusion was painted on the face of my son.  I held him tight.  For a moment, I wished for the peace that graciously swam through the coral reef below us.  The commotion that existed at the surface quickly snapped me back into the present.  Strange men grabbed my son from my arms and boarded him on a rescue boat.  They helped me on board next, and the rest followed.  The captain was last, as usual.

My friends’ home was located along a narrow canal that looked like a residential city street that ordinarily would have cars parked in front it, but instead there were boats anchored outside these homes.  As the rescue team was taking us back to that canal, our captain spotted a white boat that resembled his old one for sale.  While we were recovering from the excitement of the day, the captain disappeared.  Later that evening he came down the canal with a newer, more luxurious version of the ship he had just lost!  The next morning we were on board a beautiful new boat.  This was our final day of spiny lobster hunting in the clear, blue waters of the Atlantic.

Fourteen years later, my family and some friends joined together to celebrate my son’s sixteenth birthday.  We were gathered at Kyle’s favorite restaurant feasting on Maine lobster tails.  I gazed across the table at the young man I had to let go of fourteen years ago when I threw him into unknown waters; and I realized it was time for me to let go again.

When our eyes met and there was a pause in the table conversation, I said, Would you like to hear a Lobster Tale?