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My friend on the outside
Hired an attorney for me
Who came for a visit
Warning me not to ever cry
And not to discuss with anyone
His plans for freeing me.
He told me not to snap, to stay strong;
To fight to survive this war,
That freedom was coming,
That I would get my life back.
He said it with such quiet certainty
And although my entire being ached
To see him go…
Although I felt the screams in my throat
I kept them voiceless,
Knowing his warnings had basis.
The Staff began treating me differently
After that visit.
They wrote down everything I did and said,
What I ate or didn't
When I went to the bathroom
When I washed my hands
Or took a bath
Or scratched my head.
I tried to hide the nausea from them,
Fearful it would somehow be used against me.
They woke me when I did find sleep,
Shoved me down dark hallways at night
Into an office with one glaring lamp over the desk
Shining into my burning eyes.
Always the same tirade,
Always the same questions,
Always the same predictable objective:
To break me.
I remember thinking to myself
I must have a pretty damned good lawyer
If he is causing all this stir.
The other patients begin to regard me suspiciously
As though I am a confederate.
Obviously, somebody talked.
One of the wilder crazies carefully chooses
Her moment each day,
Gets right in my face screaming and spitting
"MY LAWYER IS GOING TO GET ME OUT,TOO…WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT ?
WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT? WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THAT?!!!!!!"
Until the staff comes to get her, drags her away for those
Serious Narcotics
Shooting me disgusted glances that clearly display
I should feel guilty that I have caused Alice to have another fit.
I try to pray.
I try to find God in this place.
I try to feel Him through Margaret and her chocolates.
I try to will away the nausea.
There are no clocks, so it becomes a game to guess the time.
I sit on the edge of my bed at night
And cry silently just enough to allow me
Breathing room to get through the day ahead.
I ask God why he allowed me to even be born
If my life was so worthless,
If I was to be so unwanted by both my Mothers.
I got no answer.
Only silence.
One day,
The "Nurse" comes to get me, jerks me by the arm
into a standing position.
"Come with me", she commands,
Angry with me about something.
She takes me to a room I have not yet been in ,
And I start to tremble violently.
I am terrified they are finally going to do that
Gruesome Shock Therapy we all regard as a death sentence,
No matter how crazy some of us are.
Instead, she gets my coat out of a bag, along with my purse.
She gets in my purse, takes out my brush and growls
"Brush your hair".
No ceremony, no explanation.
Just "Brush your hair".
She hands me my coat, gives me my purse
And a form to sign, which states my belongings have been given to me.
I begin to understand
And yet am too afraid to believe.
If I believe and it isn't so,
Then The Madness will surely overtake me.
She snatches the paper from me, and propels me down the hall.
I want to go back and say my goodbyes to my angel Margaret,
And the thought of leaving my dear friend behind scares me deep down.
I grasp that asking to say goodbye might alter the reality of this moment,
And fear that Nurse will change her mind.
We go into an elevator, which she unlocks with keys, and then locks us back into again.
My heart is thumping against my ribs
As she takes me down to the first floor.
The old metal door slides slowly open,
And there before me
About 25 feet away
Is my Lawyer
A smile playing about his mouth
But caution in his eyes.
I understand that I am to proceed carefully,
Not to run to him.
"Nurse" lets go of my arm
And I swear I hear a little snort of disgust
Like, she won't get her monthly commission
For the number of loonies they are able to keep
In this hole.
I want to run like Marian Evans,
Like a deer being shot at
But I do not.
I take careful slow steps toward my lawyer.
He holds out one hand for me
And my heart is galloping now, breath short and choppy
Knees very wobbly as I approach his outstretched hand.
I feel that horrible dread one feels running up the basement stairs
at night
Certain the Demon is right behind you, ready to snatch your ankles
And eat you alive,
Sure you will never make it to the top of the stairs,
Slamming the door to make certain
The Monster is contained.
I feel that panic as I walk toward him.
His fingers wrap around mine,
And he tells me under his breath
"Good girl….now we just slowly walk out of here".
His hand is on the door, pushing it open
I can smell the cold crisp air outside
And inhale it like a newborn sucking its' first breath.
I shut my eyes and let him lead me through the door
Helen Keller-like……
I am terrified someone will pull me back
I cannot see the outdoors and then have it taken from me
Again,
So my eyes stay closed.
No hand jerks me backward.
No one pulls me back through that door.
I open my eyes and lean on him.
I remember thinking I had not been able to recall any details of that lobby
When I first came through it, upon my arrival.
We walk to the car, and I am shaking so badly that I stumble.
He comes to catch me,
And when he sees the pallor in my face
And the empty spirit in my eyes
He suddenly hugs me to him
And my face is covered in the cashmere of his coat
And the perfume of his after shave.
"This, then, is God", I think.
God is a Lawyer.
God has freed me.
God smells like Old Spice.
I am free.
I am free.
I think I can finally cry out loud
But the release of tears does not come,
Will not come.
Weeks of training have taught me not to.
My survival depended upon that restraint
And I cannot abandon it now
So easily.
The car travels out of the massive iron gates
And he is talking to me.
I cannot hear him.
I am free.
He drives me the 60 miles back to
Civilization
And takes me to a private tone-y club
To have a
Real Meal, as he calls it.
I am painfully aware people are staring
And staring hard at me.
I have on that pitifully shabby polka-dot dress
And my hair is stringy.
I have no make-up, no stockings on my unshaved legs, just flats.
I am thin and wan and look like ten miles of bad road.
He chatters cheerfully, tells me legal mumbo-jumbo
About being made my guardian by the courts
And that he will see to it I am Safe.
Safe.
I will never be safe again.
But I am free.
I am free.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It took me over thirty years to be able to write about this.
I learned shortly after discharge that I was pregnant with my first baby, who was born with a muscle missing in his chest because of the few drugs they successfully got in me before I learned to hold them in my cheek.
I still cannot stand to have
My feet covered at night.
My feet have to always be out.
That reminds me,
You see,
That
I am free.
I am free.
(end)
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