I'm A Walking Travesty.

It was that brown leather sofa again; I was accustomed to it now. I guess you have to be when you lay there most days screaming, wailing , arms flaying at your Therapist.

"Just tell me the dream, Alex; explain it," begged my therapist, Jack. He looked to calm, my opposite.

"I-I... I was in a w-white room..." I began, but the words caught in my throat. /I don't want to remember/.

"Keep going, Alex," he urged as his pen scribbled onto a hard back clip board, /my/ clipboard.

"I was trapped in there," I drew a shaky breath, wanting to scream, to cry. "They'd pass food through the door..."

"What type of food?" he asked looking to me with a frown.

"Bread... water. They didn't want me to gain weight. They would put a little bowl through so I could wash," I said with my voice barely audible.

"What was in the room, Alex?" Jack questioned me, his ink pen jotting down notes.

"Bed, round bath tub, nothing sharp," I said with closed eyes trying to remember for my therapist.

He nods, willing me to carry on with the dream "There was a man, he-he... he told me that- that my brother...." I inhaled sharply letting out a choke of tears then a cry "That he was dear, suicide..." tears greyed my cheeks. /I can't breathe/.

"What did you do then?"

"I-I... I tried to get out to see him, Jack, they..." I screamed out loud burying my head into the musky leather, "They pushed me back and /laughed/, they laughed at me," I coughed a little.

"Anything else?" Jack looked sympathetic; he couldn't do any more than that.

"I'm a walking travesty, Jack... and I can't do this any more."