Tag Archives: depression

B52, Baker Act

B 52, Baker Act

4:00pm, ambulance ride
The order of white knights saves the day

4:30pm, hospital waiting room
I stare at my lacerated wrists in a daze

8:00pm, evaluation
The doctor determines that I’m a danger to myself.

8:30pm, admission
Psych techs escort me beyond a locked door

9:00pm, sleep
I fall into a deep slumber, the first in three nights

7:00am, nurse turns on light
Time for vitals

7:30am, get dressed
Don’t wear any underwire or strings

8:00am, breakfast
grits and eggs yet again

8:30am, medication
I swallow the pills like a good patient.

9:00am, music therapy
Let’s sing along to, “I’ll survive,” and other songs.

9:30am, meet with doctor
Affirm the retreat of hallucinations

11:00am, psychotherapy
Analyze meditation techniques; what a snooze.

12:00pm, lunch
Escape the unit for a trip to the cafeteria

12:30pm, lunch meds
More meds to keep the anxiety at bay

1:00pm, art therapy
Today we are covering journals

2:00pm, psychotherapy (again)
I get to radically accept that my mental illness is real

3:00pm, rest time
It’s shift change on the ward

3:30pm, read time
How many reader’s digest can I read?

4:00pm, outside time
Run around in the courtyard like a chicken with its head cut off

4:30pm, meet with social worker
Figure out a date of release, hope it’s soon.

5:00pm, dinner time
They really feed us well. Chicken or salad?

5:30, dinner meds
Cause one must take some meds with food

6:00pm, psychotherapy group (for the third time)
DBT strategies for emotional regulation, cause I’m disregulated.

6:30pm, visitation
Always hoped for, but never expected. 2 visitors today.

8:00pm, snack time
popcorn and yogurt, oh my!

8:30pm, night meds
Cause some meds make you sleepy.

9:00pm, tv time
All good patients gather around the screen

9:30pm, bed time
Time to stare at the curtains and make devious plans

10:00pm, pacing time
Cause you don’t want to carry out those plans. Lap 1, lap 2…lap100

11:00pm, sleep
Another night on the unit, how many more, who can say?

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Holiday Blues

Deck the Halls with smiles and gaiety
Tradition says to me
But all I see are shadows of loved ones gone
standing beyond the Christmas tree
And my heart aches,
longing once again to see
My Grandmother in the kitchen
preparing ham biscuits
My Grandfather playing Santa
and handing out presents
My Dad, oh dear Dad,
capturing all the festivities with his camera.
But it isn’t to be
For they are gone, and I’m still here
You may call the colors of the season red and green,
But I call it blue
The only happiness to glean
is on January 2nd, after the holidays have passed.
Until then, I’ll stand on the sidelines
hoping to make it through
Deck the Halls with sighs and grimaces
For that’s the truth of the season

Depression’s Shadow

Depression’s Shadow

Sadness;
I am nothing.

Devoid,
I stand alone.

Empty,
I grasp for hope.

Hopeless,
Tears fill my heart’s ocean.

Sleep,
An endless slumber awaits.

Pointless,
This is life.

Self loathing,
So much hate.

Pain,
Just make it stop.

Apathy,
Why should I care?

Breathless,
Why should I breathe?

Lifeless,
Why should I live?

My soul,
It is in want of meaning,
Crying out,
Desperate for the end.

Yet, a shadow lurks
Beyond the last tear,
Beyond day’s old pillow impressions.

A shadow,
A glimmer
Where hope yet lies
Cast when the light of my eyes
Had yet to dim.

Maybe tomorrow I shall grasp it
And make it a part of me.
But for tonight,
Tonight I shall close my eyes
And wait;
Wait for the nothing.

Not My Suicide

*trigger warning* 
 
This can’t be me
I’m not the one sitting on the couch
The world digging into my heart
tears streaming down my face
no, no more tears
 
This can’t be me
I’m not the one holding my head in my hands
Fearing my own thoughts
Breaths coming quickly
breathe, just breathe
 
This can’t be me
I’m not the one lining pill bottles on the table
researching the MLDs
wondering how much time is left
Time, no more time
 
This can’t be me
I’m not the one drinking a second bottle of wine
pondering my very existence
Will I be missed?
Hope, no more hope.
 
This can’t be me
I’m not the one holding the knife
pressing metal to flesh,
tearing into veins;
blood, so much blood
 
This can’t be me
I’m not the one on the phone
calling for a lifeline
wondering if anyone can help
Help, just help
 
This can’t be me
I’m not the one climbing into the ambulance
answering 50 questions
losing consciousness
Lost, just lost
 
This can’t be me
I’m not the one waking up in the hospital
missing whole days
wondering where I’ve been
alive, just alive
That couldn’t have been me
I’m not the one near the end
my story is not finished;
I persevere
life, sweet life

Manic Revelations of Fall

If you’ve ever been curious about what a manic episode is like; then, read this:

Clock flashes, 1am, another lap round the block

Shoes, you need more shoes.
And notebooks
And sparkly pens
And pink flamingos
Cause your garden is lonely
2am, you speed ever faster, fishtaling corners and flying through school zones.
Walmart, your midnight savior welcomes you
with open arms, inviting infinite swipes of plastic cards
3am, you’re the now the proud owner $3000 of 23 new dresses
and matching necklaces
And 13 bright red scarves
And unpaid electric and phone bills
4am, The world needs your awesome hot spot kiosks
It’s the best invention ever to
carress your smartphone’s skin
Facebook will launch it millionaire status!
5 am, competing radio stations blare cacaophony in your head
“I will survive..”
“I’m a little teapot short and stout..”
Oh, as long as I know how to love, I know I’ll stay alive…”
“Here is my handle, here is my spout…”
I’ve got all my life to live…”
“When I get all steamed up, hear me shout!”
And I’ve got all my love to give and I’ll survive…”
“Tip me over and pour me out!”
6 am, sunrise, your 3rd without slumber
You embrace the universe as your soul melts into the firmaments
Glittery green and sparkling gold scream behind your irises
The trees whisper their secrets to you through their tender tendrils
Magical revelations of fall
7am, breakfast, Canopy Cafe
Must have all the eggs
And bacon
And pancakes
And muffins
But eat nothing
What fairy creature eats food?
8 am, devour the fine man specimen walking through the door
See me? Want me? I’m the most fairest in the land.
Smile, flirt, gotta have him.
With a flutter of wings, phone numbers drop into hands
9am, phone rings
plans breed ever more exhaulting plans
Must have mancicle for dessert after work
He’s perfect, you’re perfect
Match made in heaven
10am, work forgotten,
Words vomit upon the page
The world’s next best selling novel takes it’s true form
Who needs an editor when perfection is born?
1am, there’s a knock at the door
But there’s no one there
Big brother must know where you live
Get it out!
The bug in your ear.
2am, you hear your heart beat
“Thumb, Thump,”
“Thump, Thump,”
“Thump.”
But it’s not yours anymore
3am, from a distance you see yourself walk out the door
Around the corner
Down the hill
Crossing busy streets
Heading towards nowhere
4am, you yell at the trees for their inane whispers and evil glares
“I hate you!” you utter to the wind for laughing at your turmoil.
5am, Alone on a park bench, which park you have not a clue
Eyes, thousands of tiny eyes, stare at you from the sky
You phone a friend pleading for protection from the omniscient universe
6am, Sunrise. You watch the sky bleed from the front seat of your friend’s car
You explain the eyes and cacaphonious voices to a bewildered face
You smile as you finally have a sympathetic ear.
7am, Hospital. Snake crossed knights offer protection and succor.
The tiles on the ceiling number 546.
The well worn floor records lap number 104.
Said knights in white give shots full of sedation
8am, Sleep. Glorious sleep.
Head reaquinted with pillow four nights forgot.
Was it all a dream? What is reality?
Wings clipped, you fall back to the Earthly realm.
Restoration begins.

The Rise and Fall of the Fairy Queen: My Bipolar Journey

The Rise and Fall of the Faerie Queen, My Bipolar Journey

 

People have inquired about my personal journey through the extremes my illness brings.

Let me elaborate.

Right now, in this moment, I own success.  My feet are grounded upon the Earth I was born.

Yet, often I desire to be more than myself, to be better, grander– magical.

The only caveat is I must let the elixir of strength and wellness seep from my daily cup.

Only thus-seemingly so, so simple, yet profound.

This temptation to ascend to the high places, to cast away my mere humanity, eats away at my resolve, bit by bit.

Until, one day, I give in and set aside my daily pill.

At first, nothing happens.  Why would it?  Who but the sick need to take such bitter daily droughts?

More days pass- elixir forgotten, resolve long chipped away until it exits no more.

Soon, life’s toils are easier to bare, smiles easier to wear.

Feet no longer on meager ground, but standing in the clouds;

I succumb to the glorious promise the elixirless world offers.

 

And I transform into the Faerie queen,

Glittery Green and sparkling Gold.

I ascend to my lunar throne, gravity no longer pulling me down.

My magic enables feats of super fae proportions-

Novels appear, ideas and plans reproduce into grand schemes.

They go off into my land singing my praises,

“Look, see this shining soul?  Isn’t she the picture of health? She didn’t need the sooth-sayer’s cure after all.”

In a short span, these bright birthed plans have assembled a court of sentient admirers, clambering for my presence,

offering hedonistic experiences and endless resources.

I look down upon the Earthly realm and revel in this weightlessness, this ease of creation.

All is perfection.

 

But, my own admirers, my well formed schemes, start jealous whispers-

rumors of cracks and faults in my pearlescent  walls.

I attempt to banish them, but they clasp on, one by one, until I cannot see above them or around them, and I must be hypervilligent of their barbs.

Minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day; no rest or succor in sight.

No escape from the schemes and plans and seemly courteous thoughts-

Now abandoned of sentience and clamped upon inch of coppery skin.

 

Until-

I fall from this gallant throne,

fall not to Earth

but past it, beat upon meteors and rocky rivers,

Until my feet crash through Jupiter’s atmosphere.

This hyper gravity strips away my wings and fairy crown.

I now must swim through leaded air as a mere mortal-

Nay, a sub mortal with empty sycophant schemes dangling from ashen skin.

My eyes only see a few meters beyond myself in this graphene muck and mire.

Gravity, who once lifted my wings and helped me soar above in the lunar land,

now adds a triple weight to every breath.

Every action, every motion forward is stolen by this massive weight.

Until, I can move no more.

 

Alive, but deadened in this Jovian Hell.

Not free to escape, but free to ponder my release.

What release is possible?

What path may lead back to Earth,

back to the human realm?

In this moment, my once grand courtiers, schemes and plans reanimate;

they scream devious paths, knives, and chemical concoctions.

“Cut us off- dare not take a breath, End this leadened rule!

Stop this existence;

You must – you must!

You abandoned all; you are alone.

Hope is lost.”

And I close my eyes.

Still…. Still… waiting for the nothing.

 

Yet, I hear a faint jingle penetrating the Jovian air.

A soft hand lifts my head and I open my eyes

to find the order of white knights, snake-crossed and succor full,

offering soft words of wisdom and capsules of elixir.

I drink and a doorway appears.

Dare I enter?  Dare I cast off this beastly burden?

Hands appear from beyond the crossing-

hands of friendships forgotten and valiant mental warriors

beckoning for me to just lift my arms and grab a hold.

Do I?  Do I trust the help unlooked for?

Do I continue to drink the elixir

and allow the hands to carry me through?

 

Yes, I grab hold.

Inch by inch, step by step,

I am pulled through the passageway.

As I cross through the portal,

these hands pluck off the misguided plans, schemes and sychophants.

Wise words guide my bleeding soles to Earthly soil

and a glint of hope kindles,

blazing away hyper Jovian gravity.

I am just me, yet again.

 

And I declare my promises to stay grounded.

To accept the Earthly realm as my only home.

Not to stray- to listen to Wisdom;

not to quit the elixir mending my heart and soul.

In this acceptance is solace.

For without, I shall surely rise to greater and greater heights complete grander and greander feats,

and fall further and further

until I disintegrate and there are not the pieces to patch together into a whole.

 

I choose hope over dazzle,

Strength over magic,

And wellness over exuberance.

 

I choose me.

National Poetry Month Day 11

Joy, why have you fled?
Lost in the forest of humanity.
My spirit hides in the leaves,
waiting for the return of the sun
to burn away the shadows.