• The only thing I was ever grateful for was a box. It was a small metal box that only I could fit it; it always had the right feeling in it. There was never sound, but there was, it was just what I wanted in the box. It was weightless and thin, yet withstood against anything that ever went up against it; and, it floated in space. It was also all in my head. My imagination and ability to mentally take myself from any situation that I didn’t want to be in was useful. This also tended to cause problems when there was something I had to focus on, or someone was trying to keep my attention. I would always end up floating off into space in my box, anything could happen there. Dragons, werewolves, elves, death, life, anything I wanted to happen, I could see it played out for just me to see in here, in my box. And I loved it.
    Now I can’t go back to my box as often, if I do the doctors will find out and I’ll have to take more pills. My mother thought I was crazy, probably still does, but she sent me here, to the mental ward in the hospital. So now, I sit here, I can’t escape to my box though. I can’t let my imagination flow, so it stays dammed up in my brain until night. I’ve learned to love the night, that’s the only time the doctors aren’t always watching me, the only time I can escape this white room I’m in and go back to my box.
    Everyday I have to go talk to someone about what’s going on in my head. They always nod and act like they understand. I need to learn how to lie better. I told him about my box, that was a mistake. I told him about what happens in my box, another mistake. I even told him how sometimes things don’t always stay in my box, that I can see them in real life, that was an even bigger mistake. Before I knew it I was being given pills to take, to try and get these ‘hallucinations’ to go away, to get the voices from my head. They didn’t seem to understand that these were the only things keeping me sane, keeping me from feeling overwhelmed, and keeping me ‘here’.
    These things in my head, these things that don’t always stay in my head. They’re not hallucinations, they’re my friends. People say that I’m a teenager, almost eighteen. I shouldn’t have imaginary friends. I’ve never had imaginary friends though, just daydreams, a way of escape. That’s it, but no one else sees it that way, no one ever has, no one ever will. Especially not the doctors.
    I was back talking to the doctor today, he kept asking about if the images I see have gone away, I said they were gone, he didn’t believe me. He said that they would be putting me on something more, one more pill, a stronger one. I was starting to get scared, scared that I would no longer be able to get to my box. It has been getting harder to do lately, it doesn’t feel natural, and it gets harder to stay, to be able to relax in my box. I’ve been getting so scared.
    Before I went to sleep, they gave me some pills, six now. It used to be four. The doctor lied; he said they would only add one more pill. As soon as I laid down and the lights went off, I heard the door lock. I don’t remember them ever locking the doors before. I stared at the ceiling for a minute before letting my mind wonder and trying to go back to my box. I couldn’t, I even tried to, I never had to try before. I couldn’t do it though. I could hear everything I had grown used to seeing start to disappear. Id didn’t want this to happen. I yelled, screamed, wanting it to stop. Now I know why they locked the doors, but that wasn’t registering. I sat up, eyes wide and clutching my head, digging my fingers into my hair and into my head. I felt sick, I wanted them back, wanted everything back. I screamed louder, just screamed until I couldn’t anymore, until I started coughing and couldn’t stop. I wanted it to stop, make it all go away. Make it all come back.
    I woke up in a white room, a bright light was above me and I couldn’t move. I could hear the doctors muttering about what went wrong. Once again I tried to go to my box; I tried as hard as possible to escape into my head. I couldn’t even hear myself think, my head was so empty, it scared me. What happened to all the voices I used to hear, that would help me keep sane, all the things I used to see that would help keep me focused. They were gone, so was my box. I knew where my box was though; it was floating in space, being perfect and everything, just empty. And alone. And it left me, empty, and alone. Forever.