my knees hurt. the arthritis foundation wants money. the surgeons. recommend i get a new job.
my doctor recommends i go back to work.
i cant walk around the block.
one morning
my knees hurt
dreadful
my moans dont wake the wife
i call the mental health clinic
its too early
i push 1..1 is the suicide button
the rest is a blur
i am in my first psychiatric ward
i cry cry cry
i cant see thru the tears
5 days 5 days 5 days
what happened to 72 hour observation?
i make friend. i love mentally ill people.
i demand to be released when a homicidal maniac enters the ward and takes my room
i have to share a room with an apnea blast furnace
i demand freedom.
i wind up in the senior ward and i am medicated enough to hijack karaoke night for two hours.
i am singing ” white wedding” by billy idol when they pull the plug.
retreat to my room with diaper man and a great wall of concrete feces
all the smells the accompany white wedding diaper blocks of the great block of the senior ward and a mattress that smells like urine.
i’m not bagging on seniors. one day i hope to make a psychiatric ward smell that way.
the next day i demand to see the authorities and they are dismayed by the way i can weave facts and fiction into the kinds of headlines the might snatch some attention.
i am returned to the ward from which i came.
the whole ordeal was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.
i need pills and booze and i am much better at talking the talk with mental patients that i meet here and there.
i have a new audience.
of course this is an outline
a sketch from the bracelet makers everywhere
Tags: mental illness
