They haven’t actually put me in a cage, not like all these small, sad animals. No, I am free to roam, to go where I please, and when I please. Within boundaries. It is not the cage of the animals, with the metal bars and hard floors, but it is close enough.

It’s not a punishment, they said. It’s for my own good. Whatever. For my own good? Is it for my own good that they have put wire mesh over the windows, that the doors are locked so that I cannot get out? Is it for my own good that there are no mirrors, nothing made of glass? Is it for my own good that they took my spiral notebook away and replaced it with a black and white composition book? Do they really think that this is for my own good?

I’m not actually trapped by the metal bars that cage this puppy. But still, I am caged. Trapped. With nowhere to go.

Independence, Iowa. This is not my hometown. This is where I am now. MHI . The Mental Health Institute. If this is to help me feel better, then why oh why do I feel so caged?