The moment of despair

There are moments when I feel so trapped that destruction feels like the best option. There are no exits in those moments, no possibility of a window opening up, of a ray of sunshine coming through some long forgotten opening in some corner of the prison. Those times are dark, and I do not like the darkness. I look for an opening, fully sure that I will not be able to find one, and yet the realisation of that fact hits me so hard every time. It's a wash-dry-repeat cycle of despair. There are only two options you have when you find yourself in a prison like that – try to escape, or forget somehow that you are trapped.

Escape from this prison is impossible; in the many years I have been here I have not seen one opening that a mouse could crawl through. Making an opening for myself is a courageous thought, but the walls of this prison is invisible. So far, each time, I have chosen the second option, to forget where I am, to rip my mind away from the fact of my imprisonment to something else. When the walls are invisible, it can actually be done for a moment, until the inevitable stimuli that lies waiting brings me back to reality again, and the cycle continues.

There is a third option, and that is the most effective, most brutal one. There can be no prison without a prisoner, and even if the prison cannot be destroyed, the prisoner can be. I have not taken that step yet, I like to hold it as a trump card, to have, literally, the last laugh at the prison. But hope still calls to me, and I wait for something to tip the scales and break the cycle, one way or another.