Abigail Todd

Prisoner of Thought

i. My body is behind bars and the thing holding me back is my mind. I am a servant to my brain, thrown in a cell and held there, no hope of escape. The words I feed myself time and time again guard the entrance, the only visitors I have whispers of false encouragement to remain in place.

ii. The uniform I wear is the opposite of bullet-proof; it’s a thin sheet of my own doubts, woven together day after day. It does not match with anything, with anyone. It is one of a kind, some might say, unique to only me. But there is strength in numbers, and I am alone; there is protection in well-made armor, but mine is easy to break.

iii. I could tug on these restraints, but I know the metal won’t budge. I could scream, but the yells inside my head echo louder. I could do nothing at all, but perhaps that’s giving up, giving in. I am trapped, though I can still move; I am frozen, though I can still sink deeper into my own memories.

iv. The window lets in just enough light to see, and somewhere in the back of my head, I tell myself that’s enough. I don’t need to experience something so pleasant, something so bright and enticing. I can simply view it once or twice a day and make do; the rest of my hours can be in darkness.

v. The longer I stay here, the less I crave freedom. I’ve lost sight of whether that’s a good thing or not- am I adjusting, or simply fading? The door is locked, the key thrown so far away I might never reach it. The exits are blocked, covered by my own twisted judgement. And just like that, in the solemn shadow of this familiar jail, I am a prisoner of thought.