Trigger warning: Brief mention of rape and suicide.
Thighs soaked in period blood
I spent eight hours, free bleeding
Part of it in restraints, after a
Flashback to being raped
But, I don’t know how to articulate it
It’s just from the way a group of men
Grabbed, squeezed and held down my wrists
They were just following protocol
But, why don’t they think of this…
That restraints can be traumatic?
Once released, I stay in my room
Until I march to the nurses station
And wave my bloody underwear in the air
What do I have to do to get a pad around here?
Stamp on the label difficult
So much trauma, I can’t communicate it
In a language that humans understand
But, the doctor blames it all on bipolar disorder
I’m far gone, but not in the way he thinks
It’s all performance art
Song requests to the radio stations with dedications
Notes on the paper trash bags for the janitors
Notes on the paper menu trays for everyone in the kitchen
The nurse is the only one who gets me
My own Nurse Jackie
Because she’s on the same wavelength
And doesn’t misunderstand me
She doesn’t have the arrogance
Or stigmatize me the same way as my doctor
I told him I felt addicted to Effexor
He just said “that’s not in the literature”
As if books have all the answers
Medical students in and out of the unit
Adding to the rumble and all of the noise
My mind is like a sponge that just absorbs
Every piece of information in the background
The downloads are too much at once
And my system crashes out
But, if I need time alone from this
I’m not social enough
The kid that tried to hang himself
Was practically out the next day
No snacks for the diabetic kid
The woman with the urostomy bag got an infection
Because they weren’t on top of it
My doctor screams at me
Pounds his fists on my bedroom door
Another patient had to intervene
But, we’re not allowed to change doctors here
I just curled up into a ball on the floor
And started sobbing
A fire breaks out in the kitchen
The unit fills with smoke
They wouldn’t open a window for us
I guess it’s fine to breathe in the smokey air
Because it’s just “protocol”
As if laws are always moral
They finally opened an office window for us
While patients waited in a state of panic
Years, after I’ve left
They’ll release Daniel Prude too soon
And not get enough blame
And not take enough accountability
There was only one protest against the hospital
They have blood on their hands
But god forbid, someone says it
They’ll be practically immune
And that’s the arrogance of man
Society only accepts certain elements of mental illness
But, I’ve had the “ugly” and “messy” parts of it
Doctors are not educated enough on
Medical Trauma or the troubled teen industry
And some will simply point their fingers at us
Instead of the mental health care system or cops
Or the lack of advancement
The treatment that is supposed to help
Can actually make the illness worse
And there needs to be a better term than
Non-compliance because it doesn’t explain
The nuances
There’s a fucking crisis in this country
And now Trump wants to bring back
Mental institustions
Where atrocities and deaths have occurred,
While, I’m still paying for therapy to
Undo the damage hospitals did
I’m about to unleash my inner menace
But, who is going to believe us,
The mental patients, anyway?
I wanted to start a petition when I got out of the hospital
But Zyprexa took the life out of me
Now, I stew on it
I stew on the memories
So this is my testimony
If I ever go crazy again,
Skip Strong Hospital and send me to
Rochester General instead
* * *
Born in secrecy and placed for adoption, Julia Caitlin Miller spent her childhood drawing on floors with toothpaste. She has been published in “The Mighty” and “The Relinquished Review.” She currently lives in artist housing with her two cats, Kitten & Smokey.
