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Arden Mar 28
1) Mental hospitals are more like dramas/comedies than horror
    films. When people think of psych wards they think of criminally
    insane people rocking back and forth, talking to their imaginary
    friends and throwing chairs. Don't get me wrong, there's some of
    those. But most of us just do word searches, color, joke about
    serious things.
2) We aren't monsters, we are your brothers, your daughters, your
    mother, your co-worker we are just regular people who have lost
    our way and need some help finding the path again
3) I am closer to people I knew for 2 weeks than I will ever be with
    anyone on the outside. Yes we all call it the outside
4) Sometimes talking to people who understand what you're going
    through is more therapeutic than the actual therapy groups. This
    is not to say that the doctors there are crap it is just to say that no  
    matter how much they read and listen they will never truly
    understand what it feels like unless they have been there and we
    can tell who has been there, they go the extra mile to make us
    feel like people
5) It's not a vacation, it's not fun, it's not an escape from the real
    world. It is the hardest thing I have ever done. It is work.
6) Everyone in there is a person in unbearable pain but it isn't just a
    bunch of people sitting around crying. We go from group to
    group and then color and go to bed nothing about it is really fun
    but you get used to it
7) The mental hospital is like a camp for empty people, just like a
    band camp we can all relate to each other and makes you feel
    less alone
8) Getting discharged it a great feeling because you are free, but it
    is also completely terrifying, in the hospital it's safe, people get it,
    there is always someone to talk to and now you're all alone
9) Just because I've spent 7 and a half weeks in a mental hospital
    over 2 stays doesn't mean I am fixed there is no cure for my
    illnesses and that's just the way it is
10) We are not who you think, the kindest people I've ever met
     were also the ones hurting the most.
Adrian Sep 2018
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
.madame's stifled feverish
tittering,
voice raucous as tamped in a
corselet,
translucent skin akin to pellucid
drapery,
overwrought hands entwined in champagne
hair,
madame's eccentricity is her
lunacy.
  ⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
  ⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
.the mellifluous static of the ebony
radio,
            dulcet hallucinations imbricate in her
Crumpet,
ephemeral visionary of the
erstwhile,
Madame’s a suitable fandangle tenant of the
bedlam.
    ⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
    ⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
.madame scrutinized the greenwood through the
crevice,
appetency for the veil of sea
smoke,
   imperceptive to her
frenzy.
    ⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
    ⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
  .ensnared in an austere
plight,
madame’s urbane actuality,
disenfranchised.
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
.the exuberant dimension of reciting
hysteria.
    ⇜⇝⇜⇝⇜⇝
DJ May 2018
I never, not once,
thought that I would be able
to do something
like that.
But the way his fingers
traced over my skin,
or how he leaned in and whispered
delicately, into my ear.
                          "You're Mine For Tonight"
His fingers traced
along my jawline
every time having a
different feeling
of security,
wilderness,
passion.
Maybe I liked him because
of the fact that he's never
been with a guy.
No other guy has ever
touched his perfect torso,
had their fingers tousled
in his hair.
No other guy has had him
how I have him right now.
He's naked
while being in clothes.
He's true
when he's lying.
My fingers grazed over
where the bullet left a scar
on his perfect chest.
I touched every ab
on his stomach.
Then traced the outline
of every vein on his arm,
his lips were luscious
and plump
and looked as if they tasted of
honey.
We're not supposed to be doing
things like this.
We are in a home for the crazies,
to get people like us off the streets.
We are here to keep people like
our parents,
safe from the true reality of
the world.
To keep people like our parents
unaware of the fact there are
people like us who don't want to live,
who crave the sight of a beaded line
on their arm or leg.
Who crave the drugs that make them
feel happy.
Who crave the life of a normal person
Who doesn't have to be the most popular guy
in school.
We don't exist in our parent's worlds.
We don't have a place there.
So they lock us up here.
Where we have unholy thoughts,
and an addiction to the taste of lead.
                     "Checks"
The nurse pulls me away from my thoughts.
What I wouldn't give for my dreams
to come true.
"Those checks sure can get to be really annoying.
"I know, but that's a requirement when you are deemed crazy."
I say.
There we were,
him sitting on my bed,
me sitting on my chair.
Both fully clothed.
Both unaware of our thoughts
towards each other.
But both aware,
that nothing will ever happen.
SL Dec 2017
Tick Tock
Time goes slow when you're in hospital
Tick Tock
What you think was two minutes was actually one
Tick Tock
You feel like your losing your mind and that's what they want
That's what your mental health wants you to feel like
It's punishing you for going to hospital
Tick Tock
Every second you're in hospital, your mental health is thinking of punishments
Tick Tock
Careful what you say because it determines how severe your punishment is
Tick Tock
Beware of the traps they set, the psychos that is
Tick Tock
No one cares because you are not suicidal
They let you go to let you suffer
It's a sad fact that if you aren't saying you are suicidal then the mental health department will just let you go. I don't know how many times I've seen a mental health professional and you say that you don't want to be like this, that you don't want to be here. They honestly don't care or if it's an eating disorder unless you are close to death they want do anything.
The Bard Mar 2016
Within my minds eye I keep
Our days of blissful joy
Yet in my sleep I weep
Because I know you found another boy.

I can't forget our love together
I loved you more than I knew I could
Your face will stay in my mind forever
The say love never dies but I knew it would.
Soooo....My love never died and the poem to whom this is written about is back with me again. Kept the poem anyways and decided to post it because it's good.  A lot of happy love poems to come!
The Bard Mar 2016
In bustling streets I walk alone,
Along paths of grey stone.

This feeling I have not known,
But within these walls I have grown,
To you this will be shown.
no one Apr 2015
i spent a week
in the behavioral center
psych ward
mental hospital

they said three to five days
they said they wanted to monitor
i spent a week

simplistic routine
group and rec therapy
all so they could see
why
i was feeling the things i felt

asking questions
getting personal
i spent a week

new medication
new friends
new experiences
new diagnosis

all from the psych ward

i notice it everywhere now
why i do the things i do

bipolar
a simple word that explains
EVERYTHING

it all makes sense
the decisions i make
that i wouldn’t normally make

it all makes sense
the racing thoughts
twenty four seven three sixty five

it all makes sense
the excessive shopping
with money i don’t have

it all makes sense
my mouth and my brain
racing
but not on the same track

it all makes sense

i spent a week
in the psych ward



-k.l.
Ceridwen Jan 2015
As I swallowed my miseries,
          the pain consumed me,
          the weakness nipped my heels,
I felt fear.

As I sat in the hospital bed,
           the ocean drained my sorrows,
           the needle pierced my soul,
I felt weakness.

As I closed my eyes in group therapy,
            the sins of others spoke to me,
            the sins of myself consumed me,
I felt nothing.

But as I sat in the caged courtyard,
             the wind embraced me,
             the sun caressed me,
*I felt peace.
these are all from my school notes
Pigeon Oct 2014
I keep thinking about this beautiful girl from the mental hospital. Her name was Carion, and she didn't exist.
She had lived her entire life without a social security number, no blood type or birth certificate to define her
and the walls of Calhoun couldn't confine her because she would
Carry On - that's how I spelled it in my head.
I know her name was only one 'r' from being the word for dead animals, but it never registered for me.
She was no corpse for vultures or hounds, but they stalked her anyway,
her demons were hyenas lurking in shadows but her
round eyes were bright and she told me I was pretty and that, later, she'd flirt with me if it weren't against the rules.
I wanted to flirt with her, too. Make that brown bark flesh all flushed with a blush from the way we whispered sweet nothings with voices all hushed.
Oh, Carry-On.
Those blue hospital gowns wrapped around you, on that dark skin like the way a robins-egg hue clashed with the branches of a nest.
I remember how we sat with the same pain in our chests.  
I hope she's ok.
I hope she's still carrying on in the same way she did in that horrible place.

— The End —