deepundergroundpoetry.com

Psychiatry by Dummies

A light on the black
probing as an alien
looking at my cranium
with a red pick axe

When muscles fight back.
Closed, stubborn paper sticks.
Cheap medicine makes me sick.
The needle attacks,

and the chair they stack-
comforting pillows, satin.
My teeth against the baton,
sudden jolt, contact.

They say 'it's a fact'
'we know what's best for your health'
Zap my memories to death.
In the fatal act:

I sit and smile, blank
I think about tea, tuesday
knowing who I am one day.
Knowing what I lack.

Knowing what I lost-
and how to get it back.
Written by floralii
Published
Author's Note
This is dedicated to a friend and hospital room-mate of mine who was basically done more harm that good with electro shock therapy. The days when she would be returned after being spirited away at the break of dawn were some of the hardest. To watch her try to figure out where she was and who she was while trying to keep her calm will probably stick with me a while. Also dedicated to all the nurses who've spoken to me in mocking tones, and cornered me and begun to be aggressive the moment a symptom appeared. Dedicated to the asshole nurses who discharged me onto the streets, and one asshole nurse who made me patch myself up after self harming while she sat in the corner tapping her watch and sighing.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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