Poetry

Peace to those who are not safe whose locked doors do not hold whose words are given no meaning but are taken for authority to smash and enter and...

The psychiatrist sits across the room While asking me questions about how the Medication is going Seldom looking over at me As she types my responses at her...

An Ode Against “Recovery”: Flourishing After Childhood Trauma by Rebecca Donaldson I remember when a therapist of mine once told me I could “recover.” The...

My heart is full of Bipolar Regret, But thank the Lord, I ain't dead yet! I still recall the day we met, I'm glad you're in my...

I must make a true confession, I sometimes suffer deep depression. It comes upon me without warning, A darker night, a darker morning. The world seems useless, meaningless, I...

If you have never dropped out of school for mental health reasons, you probably won’t cry tears of joy on the car ride over to...

Having an internal working model of secure attachment from childhood is a privilege. Yes, it’s a privilege.  It’s a privilege to not carry this hole. It’s a privilege to feel you truly know who you are.

She flies with a broken wing looking for a branch to rest on Somewhere safe to lay her head waiting for the warmth of dawn, She knows the branch that welcomes her even in the dark She’s nestled there many times to rest her weary heart,

A rant dedicated to all “seniors” in geriatric wards and nursing homes we’re sick     we’re stuck     we’re fucked we’re labelled     we’re libelled “demented”      “incompetent”

“You are sick. You are unwell,” said the man in the white coat. “No rational person believes 9/11 was an inside job. Alas, You are a very sick man, and we are going to make you well. We can cure you. We used to burn witches, yet we’ve grown more Sophisticated in our methods. Now we leave the body intact - but not The mind. Look at what we did to Julian. No one can escape us.”

At times my vision is shallow and short-sighted as I see my loved-one cope with the challenges we label mental illness. At times through shallow eyes I see a future stunted, my loved-one's possibilities not fully realized.  ...But then I look deeper. ...There I see unnecessary expectations created by me, held by me, and fully releasable by ...........me.    

After 25 years of chronic emergency, 22 mental hospitalizations, a stint at a “community mental health center,” 13 years in a "board & care," repeated withdrawals from addictions to legal drugs, and a 12-year marriage, I plan to live every last breath out as a survivor, an advocate, and an artist.

Schizophrenia, to me, is nothing more than a word. All it really means is that you experience psychosis on a regular enough basis that it’s a factor in your life. And that you actually do, as the word “schizophrenia” indicates, have a mind that you share with some sort of outside presence.

The Hopkins psychiatrist glances up at me, then looks at my chart. “I remember the first time—and the second—when the depression lifted I felt like a party girl.” How long did that last? “A couple of days…three, maybe.” That’s a couple of days too long. You have all the signs of bipolar II.

A secret city exists in your mind, where left brain and right brain bind. In the center of your eyes, but hidden behind, where your consciousness is aligned. The source of awareness for mankind

I found meaning where it was all along in the living of this moment the breathing of this breath the pictures in my mind in my view of the world

The dark-suited man slithered, Shock box in hand, To our bedsides, four girls, innocent, naked, Waiting….waiting….waiting, Sticky-headed, One by one.

There was never “an American dream” Only a nightmare, so it seems. Such an innocent girl full of belief In a country from which she now seeks relief.

The doctor is calling. She says to you, without saying, tell me what I want to hear, verify the hastiness of all my generalizations, the quick imprecise diagnoses and the bias-based confirmations,

Do not swallow the pill, This condensed mass of powder That the world has convinced you Will “fix” you, your “problematic” self My darling, you are not broken You are not lost, you are not crumpled You are merely a being living In a society, in a culture That you were never meant to be forced into

Just yesterday evening they let us know you were gone Joanne the plans they made for you Did not go through The job description just did not...

i attended your funeral today in fact i was the one yes, won that organized it

she is the one that i want the one that i love she fights for justice like a wild cat fighting for her cub fangs and claws because freedom is everything

This thing that stirs can’t be overcome. It starts like a steady, aching hum

I’m peeling off the labels, The adjustment disorders, the bipolar disorder, I’m peeling off the labels, the borderline - the avoidant - the emotionally unstable personality disorders. I’m peeling off the labels, to find ME, MEEEE that’s hidden.under.all.these.labels!