A Poem about Mental Health

The reality finally hit that I could be excited again about my mental health if I went at it from a healthy perspective, rather than look at it as a mental illness.

Sadly, the way of mental illness remains ill because so much of treatment is done is an ill-mannered way.

Gone are the days of losing months of time due to drowsiness overdoses and doses titrating up to arrive maybe again at a meeting place where I can meet my next brainchild.

I am so sick of trying to get to know myself again after these drugs play a hurricane on my brain and my life.

Nothing is ever the same, and even now as I search for my words to describe and try to figure out what I’m trying to say, I need to fight, really fight for my mind.

I need to fight for me this time because no one else will, and it’s only me who suffers every time I swallow one of those many pills they have me taking- looks like a mini overdose several times a day,

but even though the side effects and death alerts are real, they say it’s ok and better than anything natural you would want to take for this condition,

Well, I call HORSERADISH on that one.

It’s not a game, it’s a moment in time that affects the next, and soon a memory will be gone, and with it, so will I, soon another “her” emerging- if they keep pumping me with these poisons.

Please, I need this for me.

Please don’t force me in that place again- that place they call a home away from home- where others say- only the crazies go, but since I truly know, since seemingly every time I turn around as the seasons turn from green to brown, I find myself in that awful prison again.

Gone are the days of white walls, and forced injections where emotions are the call for alarm,

Soon to come will be to self-regulate in a way that even on the “off” days, or the -I didn’t get much sleep- days, they won’t force medicate, in turn, erase my day away days.

And then to look forward in the new direction of people who hold the same devices,

but will use them in different ways,

instead of forced injections- pressure healings.

The culprit in objection will bring forth the healing, ultimately bringing pleasure from past and present pain, making even present pain blissful and sweet.

They haven’t seen the last of me.

But next time they see me it won’t be because they through me in that padded room,

Or because they filled me with that dose of whatever it was they tried to get me to shut up with,

They will see me as a whole person.

A person with purpose and permission.

Who broke free from a broken system of letting them drug me up just to shut me up,

It’s always only been temporary,

But this time,

I will learn self-control.

I will learn how to regulate without numbing tranquilizers.

I will focus on health and nutrition.

How profound to hear-

Give the body what it needs…

Goodbye, padded rooms,

Goodbye missed opportunities to improve,

I have finally found my calling,

And it’s me.

Writer, Wife, Mama to many. My book of poetry, "Wandering Through the Darkness" can be found at https://tinyurl.com/yaos7vp3 Visit me at Misfit-believer.com

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