Do you ever just feel like you’re dying,
Like a million suns from unknown galaxies
Are crashing into you,
Stealing the space and air from your lungs,
Colliding with your heart,
Until what’s left of your soul detaches from your body?

Do you ever just feel like even starlight
Cannot keep the hope awake in your chest
And you yearn for the precipice that is the night sky
To swallow your whole?

Do you ever just think to yourself
That only monsters live inside you
And you are doomed to forever repeat
Your mistakes on time lapse
With despair in your bones?

Do you ever feel like there is no soul alive
Who is want for what you have to offer,
That the madness within is your only gift
But no one dares to receive?

I do.

I will never tell them
Of the man in hospital chair beside me,
Chest hair poking through blue paper scrubs,
More than was on his head.
His locks like dull gray wires on scalp,
Jutting into the air as if charged,
Leaving a shiny full moon patch of skin on top.
I will never tell them
The way his beard seemed to stretch as he bent my direction,
Joining forces with the follicles on his chest,
The way his breath seemed to steal mine as he occupied my space.
I will never tell them
About the man whose name starts with M.
They will know I could not look him in the eyes to see their color.
They will not know how old he looked when he stretched my way,
Voice barely audible over the din
Of other patients screaming and thrashing in their restraints,
Yells of babies ****** out under drugged hazes,
The wild fantasies of diseased minds.
They will not know.
I will never tell them
How his muscles flexed when he stood,
Shouting at another patient,
The fight,
His eyes seeking mine as if for approval.
They will know I did not look.
I will never tell them how he took my hand,
Mumbling into my ear about how soft was my skin,
Arms draped over my wheelchair, uninvited
As I huddled under blankets.
I will never tell them
How my best friend watched,
My teddy bear given to me at birth.
Although not human,
I regret my inability to shield her eyes from this abomination of a man.
She will know that I tried to tell him no.
She will know that staff walked by,
Blind to my waving hands,
Unable to hear the silent whoosh of air passing through my damaged vocal chords
As I begged for their assistance.
I will never tell them
The way he rubbed my back or traced my arm
Before settling his hands too high on my thigh to be polite.
I cannot say more here.
I will never tell them
About the ice in my stomach,
Flooding through my body,
Already numb to my circumstance,
Afraid that he would merely lift my withered body from my chair
And do what he intended on the floor.
No faith had I that staff were the slightest bit of help.
The interest of other patients in my voiceless body
Was a welcome distraction to the psychiatrist
Doling out necessary medication to those more dangerous than I.
I will never tell them
What he did to me in the common area,
Stuffed bear the only one present of mind enough to bear witness.
Therapist has a word for his actions,
Not one I had ever intended to apply to my story,
Something reserved for the unfortunate lot of others,
Assault.
I will never tell them
His name like jagged teeth
Or the way his hands wandered without consent.
For in their minds I am nothing without corroboration,
And HIPPA law will prevent that.
After all, was I not merely a mental patient anyway?

They want to know if I went to Heaven,
If the moment my heart stopped,
I was blinded by the White Light
And the love of a Higher Power.
They want to know if I saw Him.
I recognize now that it is more for their own sense of comfort,
But the first time they asked,
My eyes met theirs with a scorn fierier than the seven circles,
None of which I saw.
They want to know if there is something out there waiting to embrace them
In warm and loving arms.
I cannot say.
I saw nothing,
Just blackness
Followed by the soft browns of the coma tunnel,
Bubbles sweeping gently around,
Shapes resembling sea stars,
The dwellings of an unconscious mind.
Sometimes I miss that tunnel,
Neither hot nor cold,
Jubilant or depressed,
Just floating,
Swimming almost in the vast entrapments of my brain,
Breathing in the liquid,
No emotions.
People might ask if this is my own personal Heaven,
To which I would answer ‘no.’
It was missing an achingly familiar face,
That of a friend,
Gone from this world too soon,
Much in the way I had attempted to exit mine.
They want to know if flat lines mean white gates and Heavenly choirs,
And this I do not know.
I find no glory in my own death,
Albeit only for a minute or two.
I find no great discovery of the afterlife,
Only the aftermath,
The physical pain,
The long and drawn out healing,
The fear of friends and family.
No,
I did not go to Heaven,
If there is such a thing,
For I know,
Sydney will be waiting for me.
In my coma tunnel, I was left all alone.

My heart has broken every day
Since the moment you went away,
And though there are tears I long to cry,
My eyes have stayed unyieldingly dry.

The ache has faded and left the truth.
Gone are the days I counted as youth.
And though I thought I was grown,
No loss like this had I known.

I didn’t suspect you’d take your leave
Or that you’d be the one to teach me grief
So that I would know as hours passed
That those we love don’t ever last.

Oh, how far you and I have come
Since we counted up the sum
Of suffering shared and what it meant
To be unbroken, only bent.

How I miss you in my dreams
And in the silent painful screams.
I chase your footprints up those stairs,
No longer running; you’re not there.

I think of all the times I went
To your aid; my ear I lent
And drew you into strengthening hug.
The flow of tears with thumbs I plugged,

Whispered softly in your ear,
No need to cry for I am here.
I hope you felt my tender love.
If not, you know now up above.

And though I wish you’d made a different choice,
I still respect your timeless voice
And remember how you spoke my name.
I hope you know I felt the same.

I took a walk for Sydney down the beach into the waves,
The ocean churning at my feet, icy,
White foam caressing pale toes trodden in black sand.
I imagined two hands,
Yours and mine intertwined,
The rare joy sparking in your face despite the cold.
I think about the wind whipping our hair back,
Laughter as the water soaked our pants.
I wouldn’t have minded.
For you, Sydney, I will dance in the sand, swim in the frigid ocean,
Twirl as the sun dries our clothes.
For you, Sydney, I will cast off my shoes with reckless abandon,
Forget sensory issues and the need for socks.
For you, Sydney, I will find joy in both the most beautiful and hardest of places.
You deserve only the best from me.
I took a walk for Sydney, down the beach amongst memories,
Your tears falling amongst their salty brethren.
Haven’t you heard how salt water heals old wounds?
For you, Sydney,
I will master the art of suturing the psyche,
Learn to bend time and space,
Inching the edges of the divide together,
Closing the injuries of your heart.
For you Sydney,
I walk down this beach with light feet and heavy chest.
I am yours, always have been.
For you Sydney,
I will hold hands, no autistic space bubble as I sit with you in your sadness.
I will wipe your face and hold your body against mine.
I will fight the monsters that seemed to steal the air out of the room.
I will search for meaning amongst these sounds,
Find depths in the swells and crests,
I will look for you amongst the proud rocks that jut towards the sky,
I will find you where you loved the hardest and the most,
In the beauty you forgot existed all around you.