Why me? It’s a question asked often and for many different

reasons. The most significant why me question came when I was thirteen.

I was sent home instead of being transferred to another psychiatric

hospital. Why? The reason given to me sounds arbitrary, even ridiculous.

There were no available beds. Needless to say I’m happy they gave my

reservation away but why and to whom? Who was more deserving of that

bed? And when I say deserving, it’s not meant to be a prize. I’ve often

envisioned what my life would be like if I hadn’t been set free. Would I

be strapped to my bed instead of having the freedom to get out of it

whenever I wanted? It’s funny how one can feel guilt because of

circumstances beyond their control. I was let go, who was strapped down?

For what reason was I released? Was I supposed to do something more

meaningful with my life than the unfortunate soul that remained in lock

down.

There are no answers to the questions I’ve posed. I can however

talk about each one. Question one-Why was I set free? Possible answers-

I wasn’t as in need of a bed as someone else. Perhaps I wasn’t as

dangerous as the person who wound up with my reservation. Or as

mentally ill, or as suicidal. I could have just been not as bad. But who can

be sure? Question two-Who got my bed? Possible answers-Maybe their

parents had really good insurance. Maybe someone who liked to blow

things up. To say the same thing a different way-Someone who was worse

than me. Now to question three (the really hard one)-Was I supposed to

do something more meaningful with my life than the unlucky lottery

winner? Supposed to being the operative words here. I haven’t done

anything that has had any significant impact on any aspect of my life or

anyone else’s. Although I could be thinking too grand, it could be that I

was let out of that hospital not to save the world but simply to live.

Perhaps the person who remained in straps was already gone. I still had a

chance. The first hospital stay was a wake up call. In a way it reminds

me of convicts who are set free due to overcrowding issues. The jailors

aren’t going to set an axe murderer free but a teenager in for stealing a car

is another story. They both might be wrong, just different degrees of

wrong. It seems need is coming into play a lot.

However that doesn’t lessen my guilt. Having guilt over

something you’ve done is more easily understood. I feel as though I’ve

wronged someone I’ve never met. I want to go to them and say“Sorry

you’re sicker than me.” “Sorry your parent’s had better insurance.”

“Sorry you’re worse than me.” “Sorry it couldn’t have been me.”

“I’m sorry fate was on my side.” “I’m sorry I was chosen to go

while you had to stay.” “I’m sorry.”

Even “I’m sorry” doesn’t seem significant enough to make up for

you being there and me being here.

I’ve always contemplated what direction my life would’ve taken if

I’d been the one sentenced to a bed with straps. Would I be out by

now? Would I be in school? Would I be married or divorced or living in

Italy. Perhaps my life would be better. Maybe I didn’t win the lottery,

perhaps they did. I’ve assumed I was the winner in this scenario, maybe I

am the one with the losing ticket. My life is nothing special, in fact I’m

not satisfied with it at all.

I’m thinking of the grass is always greener, perhaps it was greener

back then for me but my grass has faded. Maybe I shouldn’t be

apologizing and riddled with guilt.

Even if their lawn is lush now it wasn’t back then. Maybe I

needed to be let go, I’d heard my phone, perhaps their wake up call hadn’t

rung yet. Which brings us to fate and free will. Was it their destiny to

wind up in that hospital or did the choices they make lead them to a

bed with straps? No one chooses to be mentally ill but does one choose

to attempt suicide or is it the logical result of having a psychiatric

disorder? I referred to the bed with straps as the drawing of a lottery.

Maybe it isn’t a lottery, maybe no one wins. Maybe its just life. There’s

no rhyme or reason. Whatever will be will be. I don’t know why I even

choose to question, there are no answers. Destiny or free will I’m here

and where they are or even who they are is a mystery, one not meant to

be solved. I do have to say that why I chose a philosophical essay to write

is a mystery to me. Before I typed the first word I knew no answer would

come so why do we ask? It reminds me of the great breakthroughs in

science and math. They asked, they answered. Maybe eventually the

philosophical questions we choose to ask will be answered. The great

scientific mysterious of the world have not all been answered.

I’ve posed these questions thinking they mattered when I realize

now they really don’t. I’m not saying I don’t care but what is knowing

going to change, especially now? Am I suppose to be more grateful that

was spared even if the winner of the bed with straps does have a better

life. To me the price was just too high. They might have been able to

handle straps, I know I couldn’t. An answer-God doesn’t give us

more than we can handle. Handling straps wouldn’t have made me better

I would have sunk deeper into the abyss. One thing I know about myself

whatever I’m around greatly affects my personality. If I were to be

confined to a bed with straps I would have stayed there. Perhaps we are all

meant to go through obstacles in life, the trick is to always be able to come

through them. I wasn’t chosen because I wouldn’t have been able to come

through. The problems we are chosen to endure are the problems we are

meant to handle. Whether or not we do is the result of who we are. It’s a

tricky, complex enigma. The questions I’ve posed and the answers I’ve

come up with will never seem infallible. After all it’s not science, it’s

the escapable bed with straps.