“The Window” 8.11.23

“They” say that when one door closes, a window opens. Sometimes the door hits you on your way out, or slams you back into your cage. In my experience, the window does not always open, and rarely of its own accord.

Imagine a tight space pressing forcefully around yourself, growing smaller by the day. A tiny box, in which to spend your days and nights for a few long months. The details become ingrained inside your mind. Lying on your back is faintly akin to gazing at clouds, the water marks on the ceiling creating dark shapes. The room encompasses its prisoners with thick blue walls. A small black mattress sans bedding rests in the corner. There is an opaque window above an air unit on one wall. The window never opens, and it is impossible to glimpse the outside world.

You have become so small that you can sit on the window unit and wish with all the strength you can muster that the window will grant freedom.

***

There was a door, locked from the outside. Two large guards leaned patiently against it, anticipating an escape attempt. The door had a square window the size of a small picture frame, fit for one human face.

The window had black, sticky, malleable glue in its creases. Every day, shaping that glue into tiny little works of art occupied my time.

I pushed the door. At times, it gave. During this period of time, I had the strength of a mother lifting a car to save her child. I was fighting for my sanity, my freedom, my rights, my body. I was molested and violated in my vulnerable state. I was given shots in sensitive areas when they could pin me down, because I refused to take my medications. When those heavy pigs succeeded in catching me-in order to administer the shots-one sat on my back, crushing my rib cage. The monsters laughed in triumph, as I could not breathe.

Through the thick glass of the tiny window, I could see into the hallway. When I did escape the room, I had only entered another prison. Doors closed, but windows never opened.

I forcefully rejected everyone who asked me if I was “ready to talk,” so I spent a large portion of my “visit” in solitary confinement. I was treated like a Rottweiler which has never set foot outside its cage, a “danger to myself and others.” All I wanted was sunlight and exercise.

When I was finally released, I had a new best friend (myself), with whom I had become very close. I was damaged. I was stronger.

Part of the injustice was the lack of consequences bequeathed unto the men who had violated me. They walk around free and unsuspected. No one would believe my word over theirs, because I had been “incompetent.” It is infuriating. No one can fully understand the personal hell I suffered through. It was horrific. But I rose from the ashes, and left the box behind. I sealed that door. I opened a window.

-SJB