Shit therapy

I present you a new shrink-adventure from the 6th floor.

Spending ten days stuck in my own mind

felt like being locked up in a cramped cell with a crazy person and not having any way out._
Good, there is paper and there are walls. Both will do. My therapist always told me to write down what eats me. "It is good for you," she said.
First question: What shall I use? The paper (actually it is toilet paper) or the walls? The walls, I take the walls. There is plenty of shit I love to share with you. Here it comes...

They found their way through the decrepit streets to an open square where they perceived a large archway with closed doors.
Those closed doors were closed for a reason. Usually, you find a nuthouse far away from civilians, in the woods or close to a railway (guess why) but an uninhabited or dilapidated neighborhood does the trick too. If a fruitcake or dangerous idiot escapes karma (read: security) takes care of them before the good people are hurt (read: find out about the truth).
Please, do not believe I am crazy, I am not. I just love to fingerpaint, always speak the truth and love my freedom (read: freedom of speech). I ended up here because I could not swallow my pride, a bit of my tongue and buy the bullshit. I hate if food for the mind is forced upon my throat.

Finished. Not a spot of the wall is left and my mind is empty. I agree with my therapist (and then shrink and my caretaker) all the bad deserves a room too. Good for the mind and soul is to burn what you wrote. It is a kind of ritual. Let's find out if that doesn't lie.

Nope, it isn't and fascinating to see how my words burst into flames. I am so proud I did this and what a luck a cigarette butt in front of the pot was still burning. Smokers are so careless.

source

This is my entry to the #weekendfreewrite of November 16, 2019 with the 3 prompts. See @mariannewest if you like to join.

Shit therapy

Spending ten days stuck in my own mind

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