The Loveless "Marriage"

The sheer "convenience" of this household binds me; restricts me.
Obey orders, and you shall be greatly rewarded, he tells me.

Freedom. Some people can't handle it, some people abuse it.
I've been taught that freedom from society's constraints is a good thing; that imprisonment, of any kind, is terrible for the soul and that it will ruin even the best of us as time rolls by.

So then tell me why I walk into your house and see caged birds singing?
Some songbirds will fly away if you let them go free. Others might choose to stay in the relative safety of their cages as it provides them much needed comfort - shelter from the passing storm. So then tell me, oh wise one, which bird is better off? The philosophical and winged bird that wants to fly away or the smart bird that wants to sing and share happiness in its little nest?

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I've been imprisoned many a-time, and though doctors try to delude patients into thinking that all they want is their well being, the truth is that money pushes them in the wrong directions; the wrong decisions.
I see such a simple motive. I'm no sherlock, but it didn't take me long to realize it: the "sick" people that inadvertently end up in mental hospitals because of a broken system are merely guinea pigs "for the greater good". We're just rats to them, that is, the higher-ups, the rich "we've-been-through-med-school-so-we-know-everything" bastards.

Doesn't it strike you as odd that the very place that's supposed to heal you instead sickens you to the point of despair? My last hospital visit, I was imprisoned for 7 days. Half of my original record. And not once during those 7 days was I ever allowed to go outside to breathe fresh air, or get sunlight. I begged, and I pleaded "I swear I won't try to escape, I just want and need to feel the outside. It's torture in here".


But to no avail. The rules are the rules, they tell me, and to even get privileges, you need to take these fucked up meds and "just tell us exactly how you feel".

So where's my compensation? You, Mr and Mrs. Bastard Psychiatrist, just coerced me into taking unknown drugs, and you want me to tell you all about the side effects so you can send results back to the corporate greeders.

I want my million bucks. No, I want ten million. My soul, my health, is worth at least ten million. I've paid my taxes; I've contributed to society, and I will continue to do so in a meaningful and helpful manner. I need compensation.

With that 10 million, I'm building a real hospital, with no brainwashing TVs, no typical or atypical anti-psychotics, and especially no treacherous doctors. Only real ones.
Instead, there will be games, musical instruments, dances and most importantly: plants. I don't care which kind; even an invasive species is better off for me than your Invega or Risperdal or Ativan.

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And though my parents are fearful that I'm going to end up at another hospital in god-knows-where and I won't be able to get out, the truth is they're the jailors, not me.
It's your generation's fault - not mine, not our generation. Stop killing us.

Give us Earth back, and she'll take care of us. And we'll know how to respect her.
Give us our daemons back, and we'll take care of each other.

Signed,







Karma Aspiration Langune Entité Iodinement Dérive Oisellerie Ulysse Guimauve Hurlement Salutaire Citronelle Ophilia Perspicace Ettore