Love we shared with exquisite tenderness
With the Dr’s scripts has long since vanished.
They say it wasn’t my responsibility
Not guilty because of acute insanity.
Yet they sent me for what they call “care”
Putting me in a minefield, taunting “Don’t you dare”.
For a decade I’ve stuffed all the pain
After 67 attacks, from defense I’m supposed to still abstain.
Dirty staff bait me and let the patients hit me
A doormat and punching bag is the most they see.
The court reports lie as they craft their dirty case
Lie after lie on which their “recommendations” are based.
How can I do this any longer?
What doesn’t kill me isn’t making me stronger.
I will always be “human” just like you
As IDHS kills me through and through.
***This poem was submitted by a friend on behalf of Marci who is currently (as of August 2021) being held at Chicago Read Mental Center. She would love to hear from you, to give her support. If you would like to contact her, please email [email protected].***
Mad in America hosts blogs by a diverse group of writers. These posts are designed to serve as a public forum for a discussion—broadly speaking—of psychiatry and its treatments. The opinions expressed are the writers’ own.
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