There are times that it really hits me
that my life has not been what I expected
in some ways, it is the opposite of what I dreamed of
and in others, it is exactly what I dreamed of
I never imagined my precious and precocious younger son would take his own life
or that my grief would be so big and unmanageable that I can't breathe at times
but I did meet and marry my best friend and build a life with him
and we are still married after 32 years
I never thought that my oldest son would be who he is and do what he does
or that I would be so very proud of that person, despite him putting aside the beliefs of his parents
I never thought I would write poems that I would put out there for others to read
and get them published as often as I can
I never thought I would work in a psychiatric hospital
and love it for the most part
I never imagined I would befriend and encourage people
with the same illness my son had and it would encourage me
and keep me going when I want to curl up in a ball and just cry
I never thought life would be so messy and painful
yet, beautiful and joyful at the same time
Teenage years are meant to be filled with great stories to tell,
but these are the years I fell mentally unwell.
My teenage years were spent in a never ending loop between hospital and home,
leaving me feeling incredibly alone.
Getting admitted into a psychiatric hospital,
where I stayed for two years,
away from home,
with a dozen other teenagers,
we all felt incredibly alone.
Whilst you was getting ready for school : I was getting ready for morning meeting,
Told to put up our hands to ask if we could go for a walk within grounds.
Whilst you was getting drunk,
we was getting medicated.
Whilst you was out,
making happy memories,
we were begging for life's necessities.
Wherever I went, they had to be aware,
in case I was to run away from there.
I see people my age and it's like we are reading the same book,
yet on a completely different page.
Whilst you was in your nice warm bed,
I was being neglected,
Unchecked,
Nearly dead.
My poor old body is sagging,
My arthritic feet are dragging
My skin is dry, and my mouth
What has not gone west
It has now gone south
My memory is fading fast
I think I am living in the past,
The past is where I feel secure
I no longer feel security here.
When I think I'm going mad
I tell myself that won't be bad
Because in a psychiatric hospital,
There would be,
Hoards of people, just like me.
Are you planning to kill yourself?
Yes.
When?
As soon as I get home from school.
How?
My dad has a gun, and I know how to load it.
Deep breath now. I try to look calm, at this sad determined 9-year-old.
Mom takes him to a psychiatric hospital.
They want to keep him two weeks.
Dad has a fit.
Mom is cowed by dad.
He is back at school in three days.
We got him through the 5th grade, okay, alive.
This year is 6th grade for him.
He is in a psychiatric hospital now.
Slit his wrists last week.
Deep sigh.
My lil lady is sorrowful thinking of what she's done
She calls me whimpering wanting to come home
The psychiatric hospital full of its treatments
Still can never understand the deep darkness
I too been there and sometimes find my way back
To a hate of oneself and why feeling good I lack
I wanna hold her and comfort her to be alright
But im only a mother not a doctor in this fight
I try and give her the mental tools I've used
To help her through this hellish self abuse
I explain its roots with addiction from pain
She says she's numb needs comfort again
But her security blanket is dangerous overall
I will forever dread getting one last call
Of those lights she was seeing being a last time
I ever get to hold her and remind her of life
I hate passing on this mental reaction
Mixed up chemicals our brains are lacking
If one thing i can do in life is hold her hand
With my guidance through this terrible storm
I gladly will do my best to be side by side her
In this maze we will help each other find there
A door once popped open leading me out
Im going back in to save my child from doubt
Street preach,
break it down for the peeps
Tell 'em what the Invisible eyes
in the skies see
Street preacher,
break it down for the people
Tell 'em what all the homogenized lies
in disguise be
Even when you give them the hardwood truth,
they still call you woodpecker crazy
I remember how you laid it all out to me
once before
Divined the Scrabble tiles on the basement floor,
at the psychiatric hospital
I see the years have treated you well,
harnessing the uncanny ability to foretell
Too bad no one truly listens to you,
Nazarenes are always treated like they're fools
But I'm glad to see you still grinding
with those sharp spiritual tools
Keep on street preaching,
keep on awaking the lost peeps that are sleep
Day job: shepherd the grazing sheep
Night job: guide them to God's grace safely
Fold your sackcloth neatly
after you're no longer permitted
to speak openly
I hear those sirens coming to get you, street preach
Coming to carry your voice far away out of reach
When you're gone,
who will break the truth down to the people?
O Lord, I beseech,
will it be me who will now have to teach?
Another snowy day which will become a snowy night
No socks on my feet
My boots are wet
I have raw, red blisters.
Go into a McDonald's
And sit in a corner.
Lift my wet feet out of wet boots
And rest them on the cold tiles, lightly.
On the wall there is a framed picture of Ronald McDonald
A teardrop frozen upon his face
The way the white powdered skin of his lips is sheathed tight
Beneath a red painted frown
Looks like skin sheathing a swollen *****
Bellevue psychiatric hospital staff wheel me around
In a quaint wooden wheelchair
And listen to me tell them about the cat I have to feed
The rent I have to pay
My endless retreat
Then release me back to the streets
With dried boots and dried feet.
a message today
in code
shaky voice
can't tell if she's sober
telling me shes
in her counselors office
which leads me to wonder
if its
jail
hospital
rehab
psychiatric hospital
where are you today?
three almost four weeks
without word
mothers agony mocks
a scream of silence
unbearable
not to know
unable to hear
hanging my head
waiting
a message today
in code
shaky voice
can't tell if she's sober
telling me shes
in her counselors office
which leads me to wonder
if its
jail
hospital
rehab
psychiatric hospital
where are you today?
three almost four weeks
without word
mothers agony mocks
a scream of silence
unbearable
not to know
unable to hear
hanging my head
waiting
Hello, you Emergency people!
Thanks.
Send me the doctor soon!
My soul has been wounded.
No, the truth is broken off –
a part of my soul is inflamed and burns.
It is tired of rudeness and deceit,
of lack of money and
the thousand other problems.
Pardon me! I am not a hooligan.
My soul is ill! It may now fly from me!
Your best brigade will come?
Thanks. I shall pay, of course.
Where are you taking me?
To a psychiatric hospital?
Release me! No! No!
I do not want to go!
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