Remembering a time
I couldn’t talk about
How psychiatry had harmed me,
Lest someone think that I was ill,
Because I was accusing ‘health providers’,
Of abusing me.
So my mind, in confusion, and overwhelming
Grief at their outrageous denial, took a parallel path
And said some things
That were symbolic of what
Had happened to me,
Hoping that would be understood better.
But those things weren’t. Anything I said,
Got me put in the hands of my abusers.
It did take longer to be abducted, though,
When I didn’t mention psychiatry,
People didn’t immediately assume I was psychiatry’s lab-human
And needed to be returned to their laboratory.
I knew the sort of person I shouldn’t talk to, by then,
But understanding was still absent then, in pretty much
everyone,
To my courtroom truths, as well as my poetic truths.
All paths to exposing the abuse were
Blocked into further threats to me,
That eventually got carried out.
That kind of pressure, that kind of denial,
It’s too much to handle and still be sensible.
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