Day in and day out, i sit in this bed, in this hospital, looking out that window. The views change subtly from season to season, but this is the Bay area after all, and we only have two seasons round these parts: rain and fog. They keep the window open during the warm days, because they never expect me to do anything. I suppose they are right. Five years locked up in a mental hospital; patterns are bound to show up somewhere. The doctors have never really figured out physically or mentally what is wrong with me. Just another twentysomething angster who attempted to kill herself, albeit slowly. The therapy, the drugs, and the attempt at going back into society: none of it worked. So here i sit, day after day, my arms at my side, my back to the headboard. I do not speak, i do not move. I just sit here, and stare out that window. The nurses, hell, they love me. They come in and play with my hair, brushing it till it gleams and opening the window shade just a tad bit higher to make it almost reflect sunlight. They sometimes braid it, letting the heavy braid fall against my chest and push back any tendrils that might fall into my eyes. Once, one of them attempted to put make-up on me "to make you look pretty for your family darlin'" she drawled. I turned my head and just glared at her, and she gasped and dropped the make-up brush. She ran to get the doctor, but when he came back, i had already turned my head back towards the window. He knows i am listening. He also knows that i can move: i just simply do not want to. I do not know what it is, but i just do not want to be a part of life anymore. Not too long ago, i had these goals and these dreams of what i wanted to be, but, life and reality got in the way. I used to lie awake, thinking for nights on end about my life, watching other people during my waking hours just live theirs. That was the difference between me and the generalized public: i lived for the future and they lived in the present. Jack, my boy friend, he always laughed at me, especially when i was always in hurry doing something. "Ginny," he would say, "don't you know life is the here and now, not the possibility of the future?" I would always glare at him, but the glare would turn into giggles, and I would hug him. Jack would also say, "You are the sanest person i know,” and we would argue about my sanity. I was convinced i was crazy. I wanted to be Zelda Fitzgerald and go nuts and have the world love me the all over. But jack, he had different ideas. He would sooth me by stroking my back and reading obscure short stories from authors only he would know about. My mind would spin down, and finally i would sleep. I do not remember how it began, but what i do remember is what i was doing. First i stopped going out with my friends. I stopped answering telephone calls, email, and pager messages. I stopped sleeping. I stopped going to work. I stopped eating. I stopped moving from my bed. After a few weeks of this behavior, someone took me to the hospital. I am not sure who it was, i think it was jack. The doctors could not find anything physically wrong with me, but since i had not had anything to eat in days, they hooked up an IV tube to my arm and left me alone. Shrinks came and went out of my hospital room like a revolving door. I was talking then, but my speech was halted and usually my answers were short. I knew about shrinks, have been seeing them since i was nine. This was not anything new to me. I knew what answers they would want to hear and so i provided them. Frustrated, they would attempt to cajole me to give some sort of answer other then monosyllabic sentences. That is when i stopped talking. To me, it was pointless. I had been talking for years, but, no one would ever listen. Thousands of dollars poured down the tubes in therapy, and no shrink was better than the next. Goddamn voyeurs. This is my way of suicide. Everyday, the doctor comes in and gleans over the paperwork, smiles at me and ruffles my hair. He always smells like whiskey. I guess working in a nut house can do that to a person. This is my life. But things have been changing for me recently, and perhaps it is because of the view i am now seeing. Instead of a brick wall and some tree's, i am noticing the details more refined now: something i have never noticed before. I love watching the birds make their nests, and watching the mother bird feed her young. Seeing the different types of life existing, a whole world, outside of my bedroom window. And i am not a part of it.