Rhythmic groaning in time to the whirring of the ceiling fan alerts me to the fact that I'm awake before the alarm again. And by alarm, I mean Kitty. My roomie is consistent, and at least I can count on that. The incessant rocking and banging are loud and hard enough that the syncopated sound wakes me just before the lights are turned on each morning. It's happened like this, each day like clockwork, since I arrived here.

On instinct, I know what's about to happen, so my body doesn't bother with the pretence of trying to sleep any longer.

I pull back the scratchy, standard-issue covers and slide out of my tiny cot-like bed. The furniture here leaves a lot to be desired, but then again, it's a state facility with minimal funding. I'm not exactly sure what I was expecting. And it's practically a Hilton compared to my last court-ordered venue.

The cracking of my neck and knuckles alike as I move to sit lets me know that my body wasn't as docile as my mind last night. Traitorous muscles and bones. , which means my mind was quiet, but physically, I feel like I've been running a marathon or at the very least taking advantage of the spacious grounds that Beta Stone Lodge boasts. But I haven't. That much I know for sure. I haven't even been allowed privileges to be outside this place, the latest in the growing list of state-afforded houses I have called home for as long as I can remember. I long to just sink even my toes into the luscious green grass I eyeball from the bar covered windows each day.

It all seems so inviting; the flowers, the birds, the ducks on the water in the small stream running past the entire length of the building. Even now, I stare through the bars at the scattering of small benches perched along the edge of the stream. They seem so lonely sitting there empty when I could quite happily sit all day, soaking up the serenity of the scene.

But not yet, Dr Jasper says. Not yet. I'm not ready to be allowed out, not even with a staff member like some of the other patients. Soon, he says. Soon. What does that even mean? How long is soon? And why not? I haven't hurt myself or others for a very long time.

The speaker overhead interrupts my pitiful thoughts as the dull tones of the nurse in charge drone out.

"Meds at the counter, Aidalyn Craig".

Ah. Feeding time at the zoo.

"Good morning, Aida. Thanks for keeping me awake again Kitty drawls out, her eyes still closed but her frown permanently in place. She smiles her evil, crooked little smile and starts to hit her head in the same tune she was belting before she spoke.

I have had the nightmare again, though I can't recall any specifics this time.

Every night for as long as I can remember, the scene never changes. The dream plagues my every night, no matter what I'm prescribed. Its theme is constant. As soon as I close my eyes, the darkness dissolves, and I'm running into the bushes, fleeing. I'm being chased at top speed by an unseen force before suddenly, an overwhelming power begins to take hold of my mind, my body, and my complete being. My senses are all alight with the same feeling; the same explosive power. It's as addictive as it is terrifying. I always talk to Dr Jasper about it in our sessions, but he always writes it off as night terrors. PTSD from my sad little excuse of a life.

What I seem to consistently remember most vividly is the burning. The feeling of fire seeping through my entire body until I can't feel anything but the heat anymore. It separates my mind from my body until suddenly, I only hear a voice calling out to me.

Nothing else matters. Everything stills. It's then that the heat begins to dissipate and soon, it's gone just as fast as it appeared. I try to ignore it, but I can't; the voice calls for me. It needs me. It must have me.

Out of nowhere, time stops, and I burst spontaneously into pieces. My heart and soul are exposed to the heavens above as my mind stills. I'm stitched together again as something else. Something more. Muscle, bone, heart, and mind. It's no longer human me running in the long green grass anymore. No. I am gone and instead stands a beautiful, majestic light grey animal.

But I'm not gone. I am the animal. We are one and the same.

Except when I'm in this state of altered mind, I do things I can't explain. Sometimes I wake just before the animal arrives, and that's a good night. I can usually take the meds and sleep a dreamless sleep after that.

But when I don't wake up at that particular moment, when I have a complete episode, well, that's when things get out of control. I haven't had one in months now. So, the treatment here must be working. But the last one? It was bad. Bad enough for me to end up locked up in Beta Stone as a maximum-security risk.

The last time was the worst I can recall. I woke up in a place I didn't recognise, surrounded by people I didn't know, and they were all or worse. Some had been killed.

After that is a blur. I still have no recollection of how I came to be there in the first place. I had never even been to that part of town, and the last house I was sent to was all the way on the other side of the city.

The sent me here after that. It's okay as treatment facilities go. I'm fed, watered, and somewhat entertained by the other kids each day, and so, my days and nights go one after the other in a haze of boredom and medication. I would rather be here than prison, and since those were my options, I'm here until they say otherwise.

My life is pretty grand, though. It's no surprise that my nightmares are both the best and worst part of my existence because in those, at least I am running free. Free of this place, free of my mental prison, and free of any crap foster home that has begrudgingly taken me in.

Free and trapped at the same time. I'm a sad little conundrum. I always wake up scared, alone, and back here, wishing that just for once, something more would or could happen for me.

Dr Jasper says the dreams are a metaphor for my illness. Something I want to be free from and run from but that I can't bring to fruition. Yet. Makes sense. It's only that I can't shake the feeling that something just isn't quite right about it all. It always feels so real. The voice in my head telling me to run, to hunt, to be free.

But it's not. This is my reality. Day to day here. Safe. Kept. And I need to make the most of it while I can. Take the treatment. Stay the course. Perhaps it will work, and I will be cured—or at the very least, managed. That's how it's supposed to go, right?

I wander down the hall and look into random rooms as I pass by. We are all shapes and sizes here. Some have been here for years and some come and go weeks or days at a time.

I keep to myself mainly. For one, it's just easier that way. Never getting to know someone means never having to miss them when I move on. Or when they leave.

It's easier this way. It's how I have always been. Alone. Independent Dr calls it. Sad is more fitting. It's not as if I want to be alone. I just never spend more than a year in one place. I am always moved on. Home to home, one institution to another. Nobody wants to keep the burden of having to deal with my shit. I get it. It's me against the world.

Or in my head at least.