We went outside today
a concrete courtyard with partial sun
and like dogs we lined up
excited and eager to go outside and play frisbee
to draw with chalk
for the privilege to sit in unfiltered air

This place is like kindergarten
I'm drawing and coloring
with music class sprinkled in
our P.E. morning stretches
we lineup to walk to the dining hall

I think I needed this--
this childish retreat--
a place to have someone else take care of me for a change
with my peers, and in downtime,
I forget why I'm here
laughing, talking, able to speak without fear of judgment
we all walk in hand with our demons here and then I'm faced with doctors
and I'm forced to remember
forced to feel
I don't like that part

It's been weeks since I've showered
the shower is clean here
ready for use
but bathing feels like a sign of progress and I'm not there yet
the shower here is unfamiliar
and cold
green plaster floors and walls match the green of the sheets I spend my nights on nothing like the cool gray of my shower curtain at home
no familiar scents for comfort
nothing to hang a towel on
they are making me shower here--
well highly encourage it --
but I haven't showered in almost a month and now my anxiety is making what should be a simple task difficult
I am once again having to face my own mind and its reluctance to let me (breathe, live, function) exist.

There's food here
and they remind me to eat
I don't remember the last time I had consistant meals like this
food and I have a unique relationship
textures, smells, colors
too many senses to take in at once
it's overwhelming sometimes
food is a battle
one I really never know how to combat
my weapons once vehemently familiar metal talons and serrated edges
were replaced by supervised plastic and paper
I have to ask for everything here
I would find it demeaning,
but instead I find comfort in being cared for
it's been a while since I felt so safe and secure

-- hear my greatest threat is me

When she tells me that it's bad
I want to laugh in her face
she calls me pessimistic, stubborn
I call it realism.
I can change all I want
I can choke down all the pills
I can write in journals until my fingers cramp and the edges of my palm and pinky are stained with black with ink
it doesn't change the fact that when I leave I will go home to an empty apartment
one that I pay for but can't truly call "mine"
one that encases me in the safety of its walls and tempts me with the subductiveness of my bed
it doesn't change the fact that I am nothing, will go down in history as nothing,
and will be remembered as another case file on her desk and a prescription for medications given out like candy

--I'll still be me when I leave I'm struggling with that

After vitals have been taken
Before I really wake up with
Cloudiness still fogging my brain, I remember
Depression brought me here; the light
Eases its way through the closed blinds
Fully sealed windows
Galvanized metal toilets
Handrails not fully formed
In case anyone gets any ideas; ideation
Jumps to action quicker than you'd believe
Knowledge of this fact binds us--
Little me would not be proud--
My mind is swimming
No one is really listening
Once I'd like someone to understand
Progress is pointless without a destination
Quiet, winding roads still call to me
Reaching scenery I've never
Seen before and may never see again
This is freedom
Under open skies
Venturing further than I thought myself able
Wading through still waters
Xylophone tones from the nature all around
Zoned out, free, finally calm and content and
     alone

I think it says a lot that I was relieved we weren't allowed visitors
I struggle with the idea of you caring when in the past you've done little to understand
I'm here for me
I know somehow you'll make it about you
I can make it about you all the same

How you'll never be satisfied with me
much less proud
this time spent will be marked in your memory in embarrassment or anger
you never like to show me off anyways
why else would your favorite picture of me be in black and grey?

It's a prison-- but it isn't
--although I imagine the toilets are the same and probably shares many features
here I use paper spoons
here I use pens that are just an ink reservoir here I'm supposed to get better

I'm here to get better
my concept of the term loose and evolving "better" is never achievable
only not as bad
I am trying to be honest
this is my best

I'm sitting in a waiting room
TV on for distraction
and it still hasn't hit me fully yet that I am here
in the waiting room
my next step
the passage way to a better tomorrow
and I know it's only been a few minutes
hours have yet to pass
and although I've never been here
the waiting seems intimately familiar

---I haven't been in this room before
the waiting is the same