The days that passed felt like months, and with every second that went by, my cravings to escape grew stronger. I felt violent and uneasy. The little bit of racist blood inside of me was stimulated and seemed to be infecting every vessel throughout me. I wanted to fight. I wanted to scream. The monkies I was forced to live with were driving me over the edge. I knew that I could snap any minute. I was constantly reminding myself that self-control existed. Every day that I spent in that place was a new emotion, a new experience. I tried so hard to keep myself from getting involved in conflict, but I found that the patients fed off of frustration and frustration was the key to breaking my self-control. It was a Monday now, a day of realization for many, including myself. The therapist I was assigned to brought be glorious news. I was to be discharged in two days - Wednesday, May 18th, 2005. I was the most joyous, life-loving hippie when I heard. As soon as she reported the good news to me, I thought of just one thing, a ladybug.

The previous Sunday, I was out on a four hour pass, signed and dated by the doctor. It was not ten minutes before I felt a tickling sensation on the top side of my left hand. I looked down and realized that it was a small red dome with black spots - a ladybug. I let her crawl around for a while until she got uncomfortable and buzzed off. My father suggested that it was a sign of luck. I saw it as a sign of hope beyond the gates.

...To Be Continued...