Another visit to Med Psych; the withdrawals are horrendous. I’m emaciated and malnourished. With the exception of one meal every few days, I’ve dined on ***** and wine for my sustenance.
I check out a lap top from the patient library, and try to get the poems organized on my flash drive. Concentration is elusive.
The psych doctor decides to have me committed. She’s concerned about my worsening health and depression. I guess I can’t blame her, but what bird likes a cage?
I try to talk her out of it, but she’s resolute.
The next day, just as the deputy is serving me the committal papers, I have a seizure—a bad one. My lips turn blue. I **** myself. The doctors pump me full of Ativan. Everything is a blur for the next week. Slowly, softly, my mind comes back.
I get a room-mate; turns out he’s an artist, a fantastic abstract painter, his name’s Chris. Chris gets the activity director to bring him some paints and other art supplies.
He goes to work; stabbing the paper with his brush— makes it bleed with color. He’s a young drunk; a madman and a genius. I have my notebook and my sword. I pound out the word, the line, my highway through this silly society.
Chris and I talked long into the autumn night, locked in a cerebral prison.
The room we were in was more like a Greenwich Village beat pad than it was a hospital room.
Feeling the body split itself apart at the seams and dissipate into single atoms like tiny pixels on a screen
Only to come back to it Having been in the middle of a task But caught between surreal reality and the phantom sensation of turning to sand Someone asks a question I smile self-patronizing "Sorry I forgot what I was doing."
We all have a shadow side I’ve seen yours Now have a look at mine Opposite of my persona‘s fear I’m not afraid of being weird We are all perfect beyond our pride Made of sub atomic light Still How can one integrate A stability lackImg wealth? A fear the shadow Cannot support the self Who can embrace Love without a wall I’m already on the ground So I’m not afraid to fall
Do you believe that you are above Looking down from your love Well that’s a projection Of your greatest fear So take the focus off The broken mirror ........
Into this world world will come, A few, Very precious souls. Who will not fit Into your cookie cutter molds. Yet, To your ideals, You try to make them hold. And never realize, They may be, The purest form of gold
I wrote this when I watched the staff in a "mental" ward openly laugh and make fun of someone who was challenged when they attempted to make him the same as almost everyone else.I don't conform either and was quite upset by their actions and treatment of this individual. I simply say that they are "differently enabled" than others and staff would have used resourse myuch better to find what the person was good at instead of forcing them to comply and making fun.
I remember the supervised showers The crushed ice The cries at night The feeling of losing control The idea that earbuds with the right twist and ties could make me die The sewn on pillowcases The weapon in scissors, mirrors, handles, sheets, bedposts, bags, shampoo, straps, glass, pens The misdemeanor The boy who’s anorexia was his slow suicide The girl with two siblings that killed themselves How everyone wanted to **** themself The 7-year-old that only cried The lime green hallways that haunt my mind