#inpatient
I keep my phone close to me to see if you wrote me
I put my phone away to keep myself from waiting
But my head keeps thinking about your next text
Dec 29, 2024
Dec 29, 2024 at 6:43 AM UTC
Days spent inpatient
Couldn't save me from me
Years spent in treatment
Failing to set me free
Dozens of medications
Just to be told it's BPD
Hundreds of coping mechanisms
Yet you still won't believe
I've worn myself out trying
To fight for a release.
Dec 19, 2024
Dec 19, 2024 at 12:36 AM UTC
To crave,
Wails of agony, voices soaked in terror?
Call after call, message after message.
Care, love, sympathy?
Succor, surveillance, support?
Tear after tear, hands shaking and grasping?
Pity, solace, warmth?
To receive,
Levigating guilt, being disintegrated.
Evanescensing from reality.
Blood clotting and drying.
Those who are paid to give care,
Who seem as though sympathy;
Hadn't glazed over their eyes in decades.
A room so cold and sterile,
That not even the warmth of my breath
Could stop my bones from shivering under my skin.
Desolating abandonment,
Hums of fluorescent lights,
In chorus with sobs of despondency
It isn't what I wanted.
But it is what I deserved.
Aug 24, 2024
Aug 24, 2024 at 2:40 PM UTC
Nice to meet you
It’s not nice to meet you.
You’re just another one.
Another one what?
That’s ok, I’m just glad you came.
Another person to promise me things
Another person to let me down.
I didn’t want to.
I know you didn’t want to.
I’m sorry people have let you down.
I can’t promise I won’t. I’ll do my best.
You want to know my life story
I have to repeat it again.
When will this stop. I hate you.
No, you tell me what you want.
What do you need now?
You can hate me. But I don’t hate you.
I don’t want to take the pills.
They make my head foggy.
I need to sleep. I need food. I’m hungry.
Why don’t you hate me. Everyone else does.
Who is everyone?
I think you are very brave.
Why don’t you sleep then?
You are safe here.
Brave. How am I brave?
People are watching me.
I can’t sleep. Not safe.
Because you asked for help.
You are safe. I’m watching you yes.
To keep you safe. Here’s a sandwich.
Eat. Then sleep. Are you cold?
I don’t want to. You don’t get it.
I haven’t eaten for days. You are nice.
Not cold. But I haven’t showered for days.
Well shower. That’s your room.
I don’t get it. You are right
But I know you are exhausted.
Here are some clean clothes.
You are going to be ok. I promise
How do you know it’s going to be ok?
I am so tired. Will you watch me all night.
I’m scared.
I know you are. I’ll be here all night.
Lay down now. Tomorrow will be better.
It will get better. You will get better.
I don’t hate you.
The sand which was good.
If you say so, I hope so.
Goodnight.
Sleep well, goodnight.
Jan 13, 2020
Jan 13, 2020 at 8:56 AM UTC
A slip of the foot morphed into
an excruciating plummet into a void.
Before YOU know it, everyone else does
and you're bandaged up and tucked in bed
You've snowballed. It was out of your hands.
The word "Inpatient" echoes in your head
and you can't help but wonder:
"What did my parents say?"
There you are, still disoriented.
You're prospected expectations have
naturally become an escalated reality.
Now you're flooded with more
Diag-Nonsese and counterproductive
There-Rape-me spouts and handouts.
I didn't go down the road this time,
so how did I get here? Oh yes,
the ultimate phrase indeed "It's going to
get better, you just have to be patient."
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 3:49 AM UTC
inhale;
the antiseptic smell of
hospital corridors and
alcohol hand-rubs.
Why are you here again?
Exhale;
In one breath,
promise yourself never
ever do it again.*
*repeat from top
This vicious cycle of
in and outs,
When will i ever get
better?
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 12:57 AM UTC
to my family that doesn’t believe mental illness is real:
i sincerely hope you never get woken up in the dead of night
by a phone call from one of your precious girls, hundreds of
miles away from home, calling to tell you with a heart full
of pain yet a voice void of emotion, that she is so sorry
but she has to take all of her pills.
i hope you never find her so dissociated and confused,
walking in dangerous parts of town without a coat on,
in the snow, hoping someone would **** her or at the
very least she would freeze to death.
i hope you never have to plead with one of your girls
to not press the cold blade against her skin, or not
to put her neck through that noose she spent so much
time researching how to tie all while you’re desperately
trying to call an ambulance to her house, praying it will
get there in time.
i hope you never have to watch your child be escorted by
two cops from her room at the general hospital that she
was stuck in for nearly a week because her blood was so
poisoned from the lithium and her risk of seizure and
blood clots were so high, to be safely taken to a psych unit.
i hope you never have to watch your child be taken back
to a psych assessment room while you have to sit there
in the waiting room, pretending everything is okay all while
your heart is silently breaking into a million pieces because
your girl has been broken by abuse at another persons hand
and you couldn’t have stopped it from happening.
i hope you never have to see one of your girls get admitted
to a psych unit. one minute you walk in with your suicidal
child and 2 two hours later you walk out, but this time alone,
knowing that there is nothing you can do to ‘fix’ your hurting baby.
no mother or father wants this for their child.
and no person chooses to have mental illness.
do you really think i wanted to spend my high school years
in and out of the hospital?
i don’t think you understand the loneliness that comes
from being stuck there while your ‘friends’ are only
worrying about the next big test that was coming up.
i would have loved to only be worrying about that next test
but instead i was preoccupied with death, wanting nothing
more than to finally feel the pain draining from my body.
do you really think i enjoyed having to strip down naked,
no underwear or no bra, every day so the hospital staff
could make sure i wasn’t still hurting myself?
i felt like i was being violated all over again.
do you really think i enjoyed having to sleep on a mattress
on the floor with the lights on so hospital staff could watch
me to make sure i didn’t **** myself?
i hated being in the hospital.
and i was terrified knowing that when i got out i had to
find the strength to walk back into school with a smile
on my face despite knowing that i would have to see
my abuser walking the same hallways everyday.
you don’t know my story. it’s none of your business.
but since you have felt the need to pass judgment
on my family and i, i thought i would let you know
that your ignorance is a death sentence to some,
not me, i’m learning to deal with my dark thoughts,
but to others who aren’t fortunate enough to have the
support and resources that i do,
it sends them straight to their graves.
mental illness is real,
and the stigma that ignorance creates, kills.
and i hope that if one of your children is
ever plagued by an illness similar to mine,
that they feel comfortable enough coming to you.
and if not, i hope they feel comfortable coming to
me. i will lend a non judgmental, compassionate ear.
because the only thing that ever talked me off the edge
all of those dark, cold and lonely nights was just that:
compassion.
Feb 18, 2017
Feb 18, 2017 at 1:02 PM UTC
at night I miss my sickness
because at least then
my life had a purpose
Jun 23, 2016
Jun 23, 2016 at 1:59 AM UTC
27th October, 2014
So tonight, I'm either going to overdose or email. I could potentially die, or at least cause a lot of pain to my body, or I could not. And I could email and pull myself together. Do I want to? Yes. But i want to see what happens from this overdose first.
Do i pull myself together?
Or do i die?
Why is this question so hard to answer?
I woke up this morning, determined to die today. I had multiple plans. Then I had a nap. Woke up from dads phone call at around 11am. Woke up in a better mood and had the thought "how will i ever get out of this labyrinth - straight and fast". I was determined to recover.
Now im drunk and can taste blood and am questioning life once again.
Oh god.
31st October, 2014
I nearly died I nearly died
I'm out of hospital again, another overdose from a couple days ago
An overdose that left me with short term brain damage and the inability to walk
And I nearly died
I nearly died
In hospital, I had a dream, and in the dream I was in the emergency department of hospital with an iv attached to me. I went to my room to lay down on my bed, and another patient - a girl - walked in and laid down on the couch beside the bed. she was asking me questions and we had a conversation, and slowly it started to morph into the actual room - and she was laying in one of the shelves beside my bed.
i sat up and asked her why she was in hospital and she went completely silent and started picking at the paint of the shelf above her
then i was staring at her
and i blinked and she was gone - my clothes were arranged so it looked like she was using some as a pillow - the rest were gone
and then i walked out and i was losing the plot like i was completely insane man i heard voices and could sense people around me and i figured out that the girl WAS ME. SHE WAS ALL MY PROBLEMS IN THE FORM OF A PERSON. and all these people ended up convincing me that everyone in the hospital was dead. they said i had to join them. i knew i was going to die. i freaked out for a solid half hour because i knew everyone was dead and then i kind of just accepted it and walked into my room, where i laid down on my back and waited for my death
but then they were silent
and i ended up falling asleep
this morning the nurse walked into my room and told me i had a call from my friend - it was ruby and the phone said 9:30 am. Then my roommate kinda woke up and peered around the corner to see me and i was like "gosh you had a good sleep in" and i was sitting up talking and then i realised the phone wasn't in my hand. so i was like "crap i dropped it" and i searched for a good ten minutes- turned all my sheets upside down. No phone. My roommate was still asleep. It was 6:30 am. i spoke to the nurse, who told me she didn't bring in a phone.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 7:55 AM UTC
For my sister who is not biologically my sister.
For my sister who has helped me through so much.
You, the beautiful creature who has time and time again cleaned my blood off the bathroom floor, bandaged my wrists, and stayed up all night to keep me alive.
You, the magnificent woman who gets put down everyday.
For my sister who is not legally my sister.
You, who has been more maternal and has shown me more love than my own mother ever has.
Who has stuck her fingers down my throat and made me wretch up the bottle of pills that I swallowed because I thought they would take me to a place that would make me happy.
You who has loved me more than I love myself.
For my sister who’s favorite type of alcohol is *****
You who drinks it not because you love the taste, but because you drink it for the punishing bitter taste of it.
You who drinks it to forget your father who never really acted like a father.
For my sister who starves herself every day because her mother told her that she would prettier if she was thinner.
You who is the most loving person I know, that does not think she is worthy of love.
You, the most empowering person I know, who cannot empower herself right now.
For my sister who is currently lying in a hospital bed right now because I was not there for her.
You look so thin and fragile among the blankets and IV tubes. If you were conscious right now, you would say that you look like a lesbian in your hospital gown.
For the teenage girl who has seen more of hell than she has heaven, and still manages to be an angel to everyone she meets.
For my sister who is not in any way, shape or form related to me.
You have been more of family to me than I will ever know.
Apr 19, 2015
Apr 19, 2015 at 12:35 PM UTC
It's funny how the little things
Like breakfast for dinner
With your best friends
Or playing hide and seek
At ten o'clock
Under fluorescent lights
Can make your life significantly better.
With every laugh
I felt my body smiling
I felt my cheeks reddening with joy
And I felt my soul being warmed
By the best company. It doesn't matter
Where you are;
Fast food at midnight,
Huddled in a seated car,
Sitting on plush carpets next to
A roaring fire,
Talking, writing, laughing, ranting, it's the company,
It's knowing that people trust you
With their secrets,
Care enough to make you smile,
Want you to be with them-
That's what matters.
Saturday night
I laughed until I cried.
For the first time
In days
Weeks
I felt connected-
I felt wanted and loved, and most of all,
For once,
I felt happy.
Jul 11, 2014
Jul 11, 2014 at 9:50 AM UTC
And I wander why I'm here
And your there and there's nowhere inbetween for us to go
And why if there was
You couldn't take me anyway.
Wind mills in our skulls
So fast we can't get a grasp on.
Pretty pills
As we stare out
Of barred windowsills
You tell me you don't understand,
as you hold my hand and demand to know why.
And I sit and cry and tell you I wish you could, I wish you understood
But how can I expect you too
When I have no clue?
Cos your mind isn't fractured
Into hundreds of unrecognisable pieces
Creases
That they try to iron out
And glue together with
Sedatives and weight gain
And cognitive behavioural therapy
That they insist will numb the pain
&fix; the problem.
But i don't know the problem
Because I've skipped in and out of diagnoses ever since i was
Placed into this space
A taste of hell and heaven all at the same time
Where it's okay not to be okay
But it's not okay to be okay
And you get named and blamed and excused and used as examples
For nurses to observe
You're a learning curve
In their degree. Or for a student studying psychology
And no matter what anyone says
It doesn't curb the reality
That you are sick.
Too sick to take care of yourself
To keep safe your health
Your body, your mind
To hold yourself
Together,
An it's strange because
They try to rearrange
All our thoughts and processes
But they don't undress the primary cause
They caress plaus-able reasons
Excluding your explanations
Satisfied with their own gratifications.
2013 ©
Oct 28, 2013
Oct 28, 2013 at 1:44 PM UTC
I am working on freedom
But it's a work in progress
As much as I try and convince myself
I know I'm not ready. Not just yet.
To take responsibility,
For my safety and health,
To pick up a fork and keep down its wealth.
To prepare myself a meal
To allow myself to heal.
To put down a razor and use a different technique
Maybe one day,
But at present I am weak.
To walk innocently
Not compulsively.
To tackle negative thoughts in a productive fashion
One day will be the case
When I have the compassion.
To love myself like I do you,
Will take a long time to do.
To allow myself to make,
An error, a mistake
Without having to dance with my self defeating thoughts
I'm not quite out of those courts.
I am working on freedom
But it's a work in progress.
One day ill be ready. Just not yet.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 10:23 AM UTC
Write me a meal plan in bright red pain
And tell me this is the answer to all my problems again
Force down a tube through my nose and into my stomach
And watch as I flummox out of control
Fill this gaping hole inside of me
With drugs and sedation
Numb out pain and realisation
Force feed me promises and a smile
Only to regress back in a while.
Fill these cracks
With temporary fixtures
Concoctions of pills and other mixtures.
Treat me with CBT and psychotherapy
Tell me one day ill be free
And maybe if you say it enough times
Ill start to believe it
As much as you say you do.
May 1, 2014
May 1, 2014 at 9:30 AM UTC
Twenty classless, eight cigarettes.
Fighting over the radio at the
Inpatient Mental Health Facility,
A broken sense of belonging,
And a dearth of veggie burgers.
Listless with his lists, of course.
Angst from the Anglophile, unable to
Put a stopper in the pouring,
Bleeding emotions.
Open hands
Stained red, and brown.
Three breaks a day, scarring his
Broken knuckles, they paint the walls.
Code Smoking Gun,
Code Smoking Green,
Manic man, loading his shoulders with his
Father’s burden, too big for Atlas’s arms,
Or his mother’s shunning palms.
Three breaks a day,
Knee, shoulder, hip.
The coffee’s decaf
But your calves? Well,
They’re just sore.
They dish the brick every
Other evening. But living, for
No light, only serves to lessen your
Love of life and make you
Light-headed.
Broken beds with rock-solid
Pillows. Three breaks a day to
Remind you of your regression. We
Want you here as much.
Why’re you whining?
Busy doctors bust the doors, thank
God for the freedom, the
Fluorescent finish to your odyssey. The
Flowers and grass greet you in
Shades of pink and green your
Greedy eyes hadn’t seen.
Exhale. Ghost out your grieving.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 2:18 PM UTC
Your unwell she says
With a look of dismay
I'm fine I insist
Tho the slits on my wrist
Suggest otherwise
Your weight is dangerously low
She tells me
I tell her, my weight is fine
As i disagree
And so commonly as we do
We agree to disagree
But to what degree was
I willing to sink
Before I reached the brink
The breaking point
You need to be here she reminds me
I reply quietly
That this place is for the sick
And me, I am fit.
I am the picture of health
I speak
Tho the weakness in my voice
Suggests quite the opposite
So in silence we sit
And wait
And the clock it ticks
As the minutes pass by
It's okay to cry
She reassuringly speaks
And slowly but surely
Those minutes pass into hours, days and weeks.
And I start to open up my eyes a little
Perhaps even start to realise
That maybe she was right and I was wrong
That maybe that self defeating song
I'd played over in my mind
Had started to unwind me from
The real me, from reality.
That maybe I wasn't quite the person I thought I had been
And that maybe those seems I'd sown
To protect myself
Had actually served in destroying my
Physical and emotional health
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 6:28 AM UTC