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Literature Text
Ruby lives in my mind.
she is the voice between
the voices
that speak
the voices
that chemicals try to silence
the voices the run in streams
"kill the noise
you're evil
get a gun a gun
kill them all
kill yourself
the government whispers alien
kill the noise
maimtorturekill
there's an alien in your head, lover killer
duck for cover
mother mary comes for me magdalene
green sleeves all my joy..."
lift my sleeves and you'll find
suicide scars
that run
vertical and deep.
deep lines etched in
red
tattooed scars
that pierce my soul.
Running parallel between
bipolar poles
in the hemispheres
instead of heart lines
lines of longitude.
I tried to silence the white noise in my mind
with overdoses of
lithium
and a
coma.
with blades
and emotional crusades
and maelstroms of not wanting stay
of not being sane
of not being able to
hold my crushed body to my chest.
instead I hold crushed pills in my palm
and swallow myself
whole.
I did it then to lay claim to a patch of earth
And I do it now to fill prescriptions and lay claim to life and rebirth.
it's so easy
to write the antidote
into a suicide note wet with tears
that I don't even feel.
but in the end
suicide doesn't end the pain
it just transfers it to someone else.
(someone beautiful).
Ruby lives
in my mind.
she's buried underneath
and I'm unearthing her.
it's the computer
but she's the soul, she’s the ghost in the machine
and it's just malfunctioning code
the study of mental illness used to be called
alienism
study of
alienism
alien people
alien
alien
alien
an alien
in my head
and that's what the voices always said
manfunctioning bipolar binary
binary code
Ruby
lives
in my mind
and every time I swallow an antipsychotic
mood stabiliser
antidepressant
they’re all just
antiviruses
for the malignant code that’s gone rogue
and every time they drag me screaming into an ambulance
and into the psych ward
well I’m just being de-fragged
and being delivered a new software package
and a system update
between the code
binding her
Ruby
LIVES IN MY MIND
Ruby
Lives
In my
Mind.
she is the voice between
the voices
that speak
the voices
that chemicals try to silence
the voices the run in streams
"kill the noise
you're evil
get a gun a gun
kill them all
kill yourself
the government whispers alien
kill the noise
maimtorturekill
there's an alien in your head, lover killer
duck for cover
mother mary comes for me magdalene
green sleeves all my joy..."
lift my sleeves and you'll find
suicide scars
that run
vertical and deep.
deep lines etched in
red
tattooed scars
that pierce my soul.
Running parallel between
bipolar poles
in the hemispheres
instead of heart lines
lines of longitude.
I tried to silence the white noise in my mind
with overdoses of
lithium
and a
coma.
with blades
and emotional crusades
and maelstroms of not wanting stay
of not being sane
of not being able to
hold my crushed body to my chest.
instead I hold crushed pills in my palm
and swallow myself
whole.
I did it then to lay claim to a patch of earth
And I do it now to fill prescriptions and lay claim to life and rebirth.
it's so easy
to write the antidote
into a suicide note wet with tears
that I don't even feel.
but in the end
suicide doesn't end the pain
it just transfers it to someone else.
(someone beautiful).
Ruby lives
in my mind.
she's buried underneath
and I'm unearthing her.
it's the computer
but she's the soul, she’s the ghost in the machine
and it's just malfunctioning code
the study of mental illness used to be called
alienism
study of
alienism
alien people
alien
alien
alien
an alien
in my head
and that's what the voices always said
manfunctioning bipolar binary
binary code
Ruby
lives
in my mind
and every time I swallow an antipsychotic
mood stabiliser
antidepressant
they’re all just
antiviruses
for the malignant code that’s gone rogue
and every time they drag me screaming into an ambulance
and into the psych ward
well I’m just being de-fragged
and being delivered a new software package
and a system update
between the code
binding her
Ruby
LIVES IN MY MIND
Ruby
Lives
In my
Mind.
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Literature
alien
the flagrant impossibility,
the undeniable otherness of you
(ineluctable and raw
as a cracked egg,
a sunrise)
glints in every turn of your eyes.
you are a universe
unto yourself,
a system of Heavenly bodies
heavy with influence:
planets whir at your fingertips,
massive and
subatomic.
I wonder how you see me:
as a dispassionate judge of the cosmos,
my actions a blur in a sea of
equal and opposite?
or—do I excite you?
do you ponder the
composition of my atmosphere,
the molten heat at my core?
do you ever,
for a single, measured moment,
forget your station
and allow yourself to be pulled
into my gravity,
playing electron to my
nucleus:
Literature
Poetry,
Poetry,
it’s like cultivating a greenhouse
with broken fingers.
-dp
Literature
Black hole Bulimic
The Composition:
I birth poems — not amaranths
in graveyards — not gardens.
That reaper
sows seeds of doubt
which sprout
into skeleton weeds.
A farmer plucks the bones
from Apollo's hyacinth; his
scarecrow cackles.
I binge on broken
hourglasses—
cracked collectors of rocks,
of pebbles kidnapped
from barren beaches:
Collapsed sandcastles
where crooked kings
once conquered—now
buried in books whose
pages creak to crickets
in an abandoned abyss
of an attic—caskets on
an antiquated shelf. I
choke on the dust and
twitch in recoil.
The bickering sky
crackles, glitches.
A cloud coug
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Wrote this a few minutes ago, rough as anything, but need to keep reminding myself that I'm not my illness I'm not a "crazy person" despite what people say. I'll edit it later. Suggestions and feedback welcome.
Mental illness traps you in yourself.
It's like the old metaphor that the illness is the car<img style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent ! important; border: medium none ! important; display: inline ! important; float: none ! important; margin: 0px 0px 0px 3px ! important; min-height: 0px ! important; min-width: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important; vertical-align: super ! important; width: auto ! important;" src="cdncache-a.akamaihd.net/items/…"> and you're in the backseat. Your own brain is betraying you and you're watching it make all the decisions as a kind of third party when you're manic, depressed or psychotic, and you're being thrown from the extremes, and your life is in absolute danger. And a huge part of you is just desperately screaming it's NOT ME where am I HELP ME. And you're trying to find you within all of the nightmare and terror and find what is you, all the while people are judging and condmening and labelling and stigmatising you as the 'crazy' person, and throwing you in hospital, injecting you, holding you down, medicating you, whatever. And to a lesser extent, saying horrible things about you (which has lasting, lasting damaging effects). And at the end of the day, it's that hideous question of who ARE you when you can't trust your own brain?
Finally it's understanding the separation: the TRUE separation of mind and brain. I think that's what's truly helped me. Mind and brain. My brain is the faulty wiring. My mind is the 'me'. I don't have to fight them. I just have to work<img style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent ! important; border: medium none ! important; display: inline ! important; float: none ! important; margin: 0px 0px 0px 3px ! important; min-height: 0px ! important; min-width: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important; vertical-align: super ! important; width: auto ! important;" src="cdncache-a.akamaihd.net/items/…"> around the problem.
Sometimes I hate myself so much it's like drowning. And then it's breathe, breathe, try and find<img style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent ! important; border: medium none ! important; display: inline ! important; float: none ! important; margin: 0px 0px 0px 3px ! important; min-height: 0px ! important; min-width: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important; vertical-align: super ! important; width: auto ! important;" src="cdncache-a.akamaihd.net/items/…"> the 'me' in all of the warped illness. I'm so sick sometimes. Reality goes and then I'm psychotic, manic, whatever. And people everywhere are judging judging judging when they know nothing about it at all. And the sickness comes again and again and you're always so alone, so desperately, insanely alone. Acknowledge, let go, and breathe and repeat when it comes and my brain attacks my mind because my biology isn't right. Brain attacks mind, I have to function in mind in higher order while it's being hijacked. Breathe, repeat, ask for help, hospitals, meds, SURVIVAL. And finding the 'me' in amongst the sickness. And all the while people stand by on the sidelines saying "well why don't you -" "you're so out of control" "she's so crazy..." "those meds make you weak" "why can't you just know it's not real? I thought you were intelligent" they cut you like you cut yourself, only they use a different tool, and those scars grow internal.
Judging judging judging and calling you crazy and you overhear them whispering it behind their hands or into a telephone. And you just think they should smile for being able to trust their own computer isn't riddled with viruses<img style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent ! important; border: medium none ! important; display: inline ! important; float: none ! important; margin: 0px 0px 0px 3px ! important; min-height: 0px ! important; min-width: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important; vertical-align: super ! important; width: auto ! important;" src="cdncache-a.akamaihd.net/items/…" /> and faulty wiring. But instead you internalise their stigma and you inhale the pain and you become ashamed of yourself and slink away, and hate yourself just a little more. And wonder if the machine isn't actually the 'real' you; the sick you. And the 'mind' isn't just some ghost you're reaching for, wishing that you weren't really that other thing that you hate so much, that destroys all of your relationships and keeps trying to take your life, and makes everyone twist their mouths with scorn.
Mental illness traps you in yourself.
It's like the old metaphor that the illness is the car<img style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent ! important; border: medium none ! important; display: inline ! important; float: none ! important; margin: 0px 0px 0px 3px ! important; min-height: 0px ! important; min-width: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important; vertical-align: super ! important; width: auto ! important;" src="cdncache-a.akamaihd.net/items/…"> and you're in the backseat. Your own brain is betraying you and you're watching it make all the decisions as a kind of third party when you're manic, depressed or psychotic, and you're being thrown from the extremes, and your life is in absolute danger. And a huge part of you is just desperately screaming it's NOT ME where am I HELP ME. And you're trying to find you within all of the nightmare and terror and find what is you, all the while people are judging and condmening and labelling and stigmatising you as the 'crazy' person, and throwing you in hospital, injecting you, holding you down, medicating you, whatever. And to a lesser extent, saying horrible things about you (which has lasting, lasting damaging effects). And at the end of the day, it's that hideous question of who ARE you when you can't trust your own brain?
Finally it's understanding the separation: the TRUE separation of mind and brain. I think that's what's truly helped me. Mind and brain. My brain is the faulty wiring. My mind is the 'me'. I don't have to fight them. I just have to work<img style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent ! important; border: medium none ! important; display: inline ! important; float: none ! important; margin: 0px 0px 0px 3px ! important; min-height: 0px ! important; min-width: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important; vertical-align: super ! important; width: auto ! important;" src="cdncache-a.akamaihd.net/items/…"> around the problem.
Sometimes I hate myself so much it's like drowning. And then it's breathe, breathe, try and find<img style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent ! important; border: medium none ! important; display: inline ! important; float: none ! important; margin: 0px 0px 0px 3px ! important; min-height: 0px ! important; min-width: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important; vertical-align: super ! important; width: auto ! important;" src="cdncache-a.akamaihd.net/items/…"> the 'me' in all of the warped illness. I'm so sick sometimes. Reality goes and then I'm psychotic, manic, whatever. And people everywhere are judging judging judging when they know nothing about it at all. And the sickness comes again and again and you're always so alone, so desperately, insanely alone. Acknowledge, let go, and breathe and repeat when it comes and my brain attacks my mind because my biology isn't right. Brain attacks mind, I have to function in mind in higher order while it's being hijacked. Breathe, repeat, ask for help, hospitals, meds, SURVIVAL. And finding the 'me' in amongst the sickness. And all the while people stand by on the sidelines saying "well why don't you -" "you're so out of control" "she's so crazy..." "those meds make you weak" "why can't you just know it's not real? I thought you were intelligent" they cut you like you cut yourself, only they use a different tool, and those scars grow internal.
Judging judging judging and calling you crazy and you overhear them whispering it behind their hands or into a telephone. And you just think they should smile for being able to trust their own computer isn't riddled with viruses<img style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% transparent ! important; border: medium none ! important; display: inline ! important; float: none ! important; margin: 0px 0px 0px 3px ! important; min-height: 0px ! important; min-width: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important; vertical-align: super ! important; width: auto ! important;" src="cdncache-a.akamaihd.net/items/…" /> and faulty wiring. But instead you internalise their stigma and you inhale the pain and you become ashamed of yourself and slink away, and hate yourself just a little more. And wonder if the machine isn't actually the 'real' you; the sick you. And the 'mind' isn't just some ghost you're reaching for, wishing that you weren't really that other thing that you hate so much, that destroys all of your relationships and keeps trying to take your life, and makes everyone twist their mouths with scorn.
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