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= F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K. =
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[ X ]
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"get out of the garbage can, this is
psychodrama, dammit! you are supposed
to use this for healing!"
i sat limply inside of a garbage can,
forty hands pushing on my shoulders.
i felt trapped, and i suddenly
remembered other hands that held me
down. tears sprang unbidden to my
eyes. i did not want to rise. it was
too easy, too comfortable to be here,
held down, not in charge of my own
destiny. the disease, i could blame
it on the disease.
day in day out. i took my meds like a
good little psych patient, joked
with the mental health workers,
dutifully signed out my sharps. i did
my homework in the allotted hour and
snuck cigarettes in the bathroom. i
only got caught once. my disease was a
weight on my shoulders that i ignored.
i sat in group and smiled while digging
my fingernails into my hands. i wrote
incessantly about blood. people watched
me take a piss. there was no privacy.
there was no touching. no human contact,
no love. there was nothing but group and
meals and the pure outpouring of raw
emotion from 7 a.m. until 10 p.m. Blood
was drawn, weight was written down,
i went to therapy three times a week.
pure monotony.
but i learned some things. i learned that
modern psychiatry is bullshit, and that
mental hospitals are crap. nothing good
comes out of it.. they put you in your
own little world, a world that is NOT
a microcosm of the real world, but rather
a simulated, comfortable surreality that
doesn't do shit to help you. they scar
you.
funny how it will grab me. i was walking
down the street, and i saw a couple
holding hands. i was filled with a sense
of wrong, and a thought flashed through
my mind.
no pc allowed.
i had to shake my head, remind myself that
in the real world, people are allowed to
touch each other.
funny, treatment takes almost as long as
it takes for your insurance to run out.
greedy bastards... they fuck kids up for
money, and they don't even help them.
parents don't know this, but the kids who
have no privacy and are treated like animals
do.
so i sit here and write, and i am doing
a thousand things that i would not be allowed
to do in a psych ward. i ask, why? why
couldn't i smoke? drink coffee? watch a
movie that has violence in it? swear?
these things happen in the real world,
and nothing they do in this places
helps you deal with it, much less the
things that threw you in there. how can
i deal with being beaten by my lover if
i am not allowed to see a violent movie
because it might hurt my tender money
producing sensibilities?
demonika
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