Who knew that a psychiatric ward could be so peaceful?

Dear Little Sisters,

Who knew that a psychiatric ward could be so peaceful? I sat there leafing through the magazines. When I saw something that spoke to me, I began to tear at it gingerly with my fingers. I loved the way it felt to rip the paper. There was something satisfying about using my hands instead of scissors. Not that I had a choice, but I still liked it. I loved that I could just sit there and worry only about how to tear paper with my hands. Not about how I had failed as a teacher, as a friend, and as a human being.

So, I did more leafing. And then, I found her. Just the naked back of a woman with fat rolls and almost the same color skin as me. I cut her out, following her curves with my hand. She was like the Grand Odalisque but plus-sized and in an advertisement for body wash. I put her to the side to look for what could go alongside her. I looked through some more magazines and there she was again! I had two of them. I glued them on my paper in a ying-yang, a 69-shape, if you will. I did not know which side was up and which was down, but I was okay with that.

I cut out strips of dark hair for each of them. I gave one of them a crown and a dress of flowers. She lived in the darkness. I gave the other one no crown but she had the sun and lightness. However, the heaviness of the metal weighed her down. There they were: lightness and darkness, triumph and failure, freedom and bondage. I had made it, the perfect picture. In all my years of creating, here was my greatest work and it was done in the psych ward. I admired it. It reminded me of a funny thing my dad used to say when he had finished working on a drawing: “Leonardo, put down your brush. This is your masterpiece.” I couldn’t wait to share it.

So, everyone got a chance to present theirs. And not to be hateful, but theirs were crap. They made collages of random shit. They cut out cliche pictures and tossed it on the paper. Their art pieces said “vision board.” My piece said, “here is my fucking split-soul.” My heart was beating when I had to explain my piece. I knew the beauty of what I had created. I thought they would too. But they didn’t. Everyone was in wrapped up in their own shit and couldn’t see the wonder of my creation. I guess I could forgive them because we were all there with bigger fish to fry. But, still, someone could have approached me, and said, “I see you. I know who you are. And, you are special.” But, none of that happened. They collected our pieces and promised to give them to us when we left. I was scared that my piece would get lost in the trash, but, again, I didn’t have a choice.

Later, we would have free time and I would work on the 1,000-piece puzzle with a few others. We ate the hospital food, which I really didn’t mind. And, eventually, I went back to my room. I don’t think I had the urge to scratch the skin off my arms that night. I had said what I needed to say with my picture. Instead of tearing my own flesh, I tore paper. Even if no one else could see my girls, I could. I went to sleep thinking about them, Little Sisters. It was all I could think about.

Sincerely,
Ratsiram