Saturday, March 8, 2014

Seclusion and restraint of the alien

Dragged in, as I passively

Resist – no kicking, no punching

And yet they restrain me

On a stretcher, arms and legs

Tied down in the ambulance

As I am taken to the unit

Where there’s a room

With a mattress on the floor.

They hold me down

And inject me

With Acuphase,

Used on cattle, a major tranquiliser

That causes utter pain and fatigue.

I know they will use this on me indefinitely,

As they have before. I know, I am in for,

At least a year of this drug, or many, many more.

But I still hope, my friends will burst in,

Tell the psychiatrists to go to hell,

Drag the bastards into court, or threaten to

And I’ll be released from the massive suffering

They’ve begun to subject me to.

But at that time, I had no friends that supportive.

Flash back to the muscle-memory of

The nurses undressing me

And putting their ugly baggy pyjamas

On my body.

Then, they locked the door, locked me in.

I, singing and moving around

Until I’m thirsty

And tired from the chemicals

And need to urinate.

I bang on the door,

Demanding what I need, bang for quite a while

Before they give me

A bedpan and a cup of water

On the floor

And the door is locked again

For many more hours.

I can't get away from that horrible feeling easily

That memory of being violated with the approval of government.

If I’d been violent,

I’d be so ashamed

And fearful of myself,

I doubt I would ever

Fight the wall of prejudice

Enough to be heard.

I’d probably agree

To be compliant

With continuing prescriptions

That rotted my insides

And kept me sleepy,

Shamed and disabled,

Hating myself

Until I died swallowing

Their lies and abuse.

My life shortened –

Only two thirds of what

It should be.

My suffering not allowed,

Not given validation,

Made the subject of ‘jokes’,

Of prejudiced accusations,

My life turned into

Someone else’s living.

Their intelligence qualified,

My thoughts and insights

Derided and shut down.

But I was not violent,

So they had no reason

To attack me,

No warrant for arrest,

No crime to be confessed.

I was outraged;

I was protesting in symbology;

I wanted something to shift

In them and me,

So I didn’t feel like an alien

And they didn’t act

Like I was nobody

And tell me what I had to say was nothing.

I heard crap on the radio,

I heard piss on the television,

Nothing but psychiatrisms

Eroding my life with  forced treatment regimes.

But the internet changed everything.

Suddenly gone were the censors

And those who labelled me.

I got to choose

Who I connected with.

I got to agree

And gain agreements,

Even tell my story

And attend a like-minded conference.

So long had my thoughts

Been trapped in seclusion

And actively restrained

By a derogatory word,

Or look from those

Who were not my friends,

That threatened more violations

Should I attempt to argue back.

They could make that call,

They could put me away

Have me drugged

And so scared of knock-out

Anaesthetics and electro-shocks,

Or higher doses of what I was given,

That I’d let them mock me,

And let their voices echo

Within me to make redundant

My bright insightful intelligence

That kicked their bigot nonsense.

I turned into self-hate,

Instead of protesting

What made me furious.

So long had bastards

Been standing on my breasts,

I could hardly breathe without

Thinking if it was okay with them.

But I could not say

I needed to get things

Off my chest, if I did,

I’d be dragged off again.

So many times they did that,

For so much of my youth.

But now I’m speaking

And people are starting to listen.

Society is coming out of its trance.

They don’t all agree

To salute psychiatry.

Protest is being allowed.

Sometimes that protest

Even peeps into television and radio

And the public glean

An inkling of our distress.

It’ll be a long time

Before people stop using

The derogatory terms.

It’ll be a long time

Before people understand

How to assist a person in crisis

Without getting frightened and angry

At the person’s grief, causing more distress.

It has to be soon,

Our government must stop

Allowing psychiatry to abuse us.

They harm us without us committing a crime,

They harm us for one reason –

We are already in distress.

Give us validation,

Give us understanding,

Actively listen

And realise it is in your interest.

We are all different,

But we are part of one thing,

A planet called Earth,

Even if we feel like an alien.
(image (c) Initially NO, volume 6 of the adult picture book series BEINGS. The CAT team are, a group of thugs who drag people away to psychiatric facilities, drug and electrocute them, and that's not fiction anymore than the above confessional poem. The CAT team think they are 'trained' to be the handler of people, who are in crisis and their torturous handling can be called 'care'.)

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