When I was in the hospital in 2011, the ward I was in had an art therapy session everyday. This session was the only one I actually looked forward to every day. I am horrible at art, I can't draw very well at all but that didn't matter because it wasn't about being perfect it was about getting my feelings out. Lately I have had the image in my head of how I would describe how I feel.  In this picture I am laying on a bed made of cold steel, in a dark cement room, with a dark thin blanket. The only light in the room is the crisp clean white sheets and the light from the little window. The light from the little window is the only light I get and the window is out of my reach. While I am laying on the bed I just stare up at the widow and wish I were out there but I am trapped in my own little world singing my favorite songs.

It's okay to laugh at my despicable drawing, I do.