Finally, they released one arm. I was exhausted, and my anger was starting to fade, so I didn't make a fist and punch any of the orderlies in the face. Instead, I scratched my itches and held on to my stomach when it hurt and kept listening to those kids. They were my link to the outside world and the possibility of a better life. A full day went by, and then they released the other arm. The whole thing had been pretty humbling, and I wasn't really feeling angry anymore, so I didn't threaten anyone. The next day, they released a leg. On the fourth day, when they felt confident that I wasn't going to hurt myself or anyone else, they released my other leg.
Finally, when they let me up off the table on which I'd been restrained, I was able to look out the window. The voices I had heard belonged to normal kids who lived in the neighborhood. There was nothing special about them or their circumstances. I was the one who had been given the charmed life, and the chance to live my dream of being an actor from the time I was seven years old. But they had something I had never had: They were happy, and they felt good about themselves. Now that I could see happiness right there in front of me, I wanted it for myself.
"God, I want what they have," I said.