My mental escape

The clang of the mental, a dull, insistent rhythm, tries to chase me. The mental escape. No, my mental escape. Wait, let me explain. Or do I care to explain? The words are clunky, leaden things, like the air here, thick with the scent of recycled despair and the ghosts of forgotten dreams.

Running. I am always running. Not with my feet, no. Those are stuck, rooted in this stale, grey existence. But inside, in the boundless theatre of my mind, I am flying. Running, tearing through an invisible barrier, bursting into an area full of trees. Ancient, moss-draped oaks, their branches reaching like gnarled invitations to the sky. Air, clean and sharp, fills my lungs, tasting of pine needles and impending rain. And freedom. Oh, God, the freedom.

I can feel the escape. I can feel it in my mind, a symphony of quiet joy, away from the reality of my life. A place where I want to stay. Forever, if I could. Here, the hum of fluorescent lights is replaced by the murmur of a hidden stream. The cold, sterile walls dissolve into endless, verdant horizons.

I'm trying not to go crazy. Trying not to lose my mind. I am trying. Oh, how I am trying. To not listen to that dead voice inside. It whispers, a constant, insidious drone of what-ifs and why-nots, of failures and endings. It’s the echo of the metal, the thrum of the unforgiving reality. It tells me to give up, to succor the pain, to let the grey seep into my very bones.

But no. I just want to be free from this felt pain that is too deep to explain. A pain that sits behind my sternum, a cold, hard knot that tightens with every breath in the real world. My mental escape. Oh, my mental escape. Let me explain. Tragedy brought me here. Pain brought me here. Loss brought me here. Each a heavy stone, dropped into the quiet pond of my life, rippling outwards until the water became a churning, dark mess. I will never smile for real again, not the genuine, unburdened kind, not out there. But in my escape… in my escape, I am smiling. Wide and free. My eyes crinkle at the corners, my laugh rings out, a sound I haven’t heard in years, a sound I invent anew with every breath of forest air.

Here, I dance barefoot on cool earth, the moss a velvet carpet beneath my soles. I climb trees, light as a wisp, to sit among the leaves and watch the world unfold in vibrant, impossible colours. The sun is always warm, the shadows always inviting. There is no urgency, no expectation, no judgment. Only the vast, gentle expanse of my own making.

My mental escape. Oh, let me explain. It’s not just a hiding place. It’s a forging place. A place where impossible things become possible, where the shattered pieces of my soul are slowly, painstakingly, reassembled into something stronger, something new. It’s going to happen for me. How it must happen for me. This isn't just a diversion; it's a recalibration. A desperate, tenacious belief that happiness and joy are not just concepts, but tangible feelings I can still hold. Oh, GOD. My God. My mental escape. I am ready. Ready to be real. Not out there yet, perhaps, but real in here. A smile that once only bloomed in the forest air now flickers at the corners of my lips in the grey. The dead voice still whispers, but a new, stronger melody hums in response. A melody of trees, and air, and freedom. And maybe, just maybe, it’s enough to carry me forward.