Bara Psych Ward I

I recline in this desolate chamber, reflecting upon my existence—

A recent relapse has left me here; another overdose!
Sirens blaring, chaos ensuing, time moving at a crawl.

Awakened, confined to this bed, adorned in zebra stripes,
Blinded by a dazzling, circular light.
Deja vu consumes me: "I know this place."

The four walls are familiar,
"I'm back in the madhouse."
Emotion evades me,
As I succumb to self-imposed isolation.

This place is loathsome; it evokes no sympathy, remorse, joy, nothing.
I try to put on a facade of happiness, but end up laughing maniacally.
I don't find this amusing, yet I laugh uncontrollably,
"They'll surely label me a lunatic."

An hour has passed, and still, no one has attended to me.
No one cares.
I don't care either.

The first time I was institutionalized,
It was under a court order, brought here by a police escort,
Hands and legs shackled.
That was five years ago.

I was told I had committed numerous crimes,
That I was a nefarious person,
That four bodies were discovered in my dwelling,
Two more gravely injured in the hospital.

I was not confused.
I knew what had transpired.
I knew how they died, how I should have as well.
I knew I was a wicked person.

The doctor has just entered, interrupting my train of thought.
I recognize her; she was my "assigned helper" not long ago.
She smiles at me, and I reciprocate.

She conducts a silent examination.
I recall these rooms are equipped with surveillance cameras and microphones.
On the opposite side of the room is a full-sheet, two-way window.
They are probably observing us at this moment.

She begins with small talk, but I insist she cut to the chase and explain my presence.
She informs me of my missed appointments, to which I respond with a busy excuse.
She mentions she couldn't locate me on my phone, to which I reply it was stolen.
She says my apartment was found empty, and I explain I moved out.

My mind becomes frenzied,
Thoughts clashing, fighting for exploration.
As if on cue, she remains motionless and watches as I battle internally.
Emotions flood me, voices unleashed.

She takes thorough notes, careful not to disturb my display.
I am still secured to the bed,
Hands and feet chained,
A strap encircling my stomach.

I ask what day it is. Monday, she says.
I inquire about the time. A few minutes past eight, she replies.
I mention my bus departs at ten. She informs me I will miss it.
I express concern about not being able to affording another ticket. She mentions it may not be necessary.

I summon the courage to confront my demons,
This is one of those surreal nightmares,
Where rants are futile,
And the only way through is rational thought.

Two hours later

I recline in this desolate chamber, reflecting upon my existence—

I've been on a positive path recently.
Business is going well, Happy Signs a success, Mzansi X needs work.

I haven't been social with those closest to me.
I try to talk to B, but it's as if we are trying to ignite a fire with water.
Every encounter with Hlehle feels like a futile attempt at closeness.
I consider Lihle a good friend, but fear she is in over her head, so I distance myself.

My sister's birthday was last week. I didn't wish her a happy birthday. I didn't visit or buy her a gift.
My other sister messaged me on FB. I responded, but when she said she missed me, I said nothing. In fact, I logged out and haven't returned to that account.
It's been over a year since my mother and I last spoke.
I last saw her on my daughters funeral.

I recline in this desolate chamber and consider how I ended up here—

I've been attending therapy for a few years.
It's not that I never wanted to get better,
I was just too afraid to confront my demons.

I've been sober for a few months,
But that doesn't mean I'm better.
I still have my moments,
But I am learning how to cope.

I know I am not alone in this struggle,
But sometimes it feels that way.
I know there are people who care about me,
But sometimes it's hard to believe.

I recline in this desolate chamber and think about my future—

Wondering if I will ever live a normal life,
If I will ever start a family,
If I will ever truly be happy.

I don't have the answers,
But I am working on finding them.
I take it day by day,
And try to stay positive.

I recline in this desolate chamber and think about my past—

The mistakes I have made,
The pain I have caused,
The people I have hurt.

I can't change the past,
But I can learn from it.
I can apologize for my actions,
And try to make amends.

I recline in this desolate chamber and think about my present—

The progress I have made,
The strength I have found,
The hope I have for the future.

I am not perfect,
But I am working on it.
I am not alone,
And I am working on it.

I recline in this desolate chamber and think about my future—

The happiness I will find,
The love I will give,
The life I will live.

I don't know what the future holds,
But I am prepared to face it.
I am ready to live,
I am ready to love.

I am more than the sum of my mistakes!