Fireworks of Hope
A playground as I remember it; past tense, but in my mind.
A place I rarely saw the sun, as the shadows passed with time.
Filled with joy and laughter, as families came to play,
Distance kept me cornered, as night turned into day.
At that playground every night, I ran away and stayed,
Until the lonely night turned back into day.
I knew that I was different, a feeling not described.
Anxiety, PTSD, often felt like I had died.
With every evaluation, and those they never tried,
Alone I sat in silence, with no one at my side.
Diagnoses they often sputtered, as I sat so silently,
Wishing I could utter words that'd set me free.
They called for MMPIs, and called for more restraints,
Until I finally answered and accepted their complaints.
I talked and told them stories, all those they longed to hear.
I studied their reflections, and knew I could endure.
I heard their quiet voices, their whispers in the halls.
I read their notes on clipboards, as they tried to hide it all.
In Dr. Atkins' office, hours and days on end,
He asked such stupid questions while writing with his pen.
I started asking others, that were soon to be released,
What they said? And what they did to give the doctors peace?
I finally figured out that I could duke them all:
The staff, the psychiatrists, the doctors, and them all.
The trick, you see, was to tell them a little at a time,
To make-believe a little more about my melting mind.
But just enough to appease them, but not to be insane,
So that they'd think that therapy was helping my poor brain.
I'd scream and throw such fits, and then I'd cry to them,
And beg to see the psychiatrist, show him where my mind had been.
Fire burned in my body, then thank him for his concern.
All the while I studied him, oh the things, the things that I had learned.
I cannot believe I got released by playing their own game.
Years of college and training, thinking they were sane.
At 12 years old, my genius put them all to shame.
My survival skills like fireworks, I'm not the one to blame.
I knew I had a special gift, the one I needed to survive.
I studied all my files, and bowed my head and cried.
I learned the things that weren't in books, or poetry, and weren't signed.
I was able to decipher the psychiatrists who judged mind.
The first time that I'm writing this, is reliving all the hell.
The State hospital private rooms resembled a jail cell.
Adolescent ward to 40B is where I would be today,
Had I not conquered all the diplomas that they displayed.
Upon release, that playground sat exactly where I left it.
I sat alone and I smiled, not knowing how to act yet.
I laughed, I sang, and blended in, although feeling so alone.
I hid my mental illness, in fear of being known.
Not wanting to return to the hospital I called home.
I finally found a place that accepts me, how I am,
And understands my illness, and where I find my friends.
A place where laughter echoes, and they lend a helping hand.
To combat all the stigmas, together we take a stand.
I invite you all to join me, coffee, groups, and art.
I'll probably be smiling as a new day starts.
I want to thank you, NAMI, for being there for me,
And for every heart you've ever touched,
Your rooms have set us free.
Written by: IdnAc,
Dedicated to NAMI