Cydniey Buffers (cydniey) wrote,
Cydniey Buffers

I Had Damn Good Insurance #new #poem #slampoem #schizophrenia

People say I have "meth mouth"
Whenever the look at and judge me.
But I only ever did meth one time,
and I snorted it then and didn't rub
any of it on my gums like I
would have done with coke.
I didn't know what I was taking.
And I got crazy,
and I got violent,
and I wanted more.
And Doc said "no"
and I flipped out
because I was coming down.
So I grabbed a knife and
tried to stab him in the kitchen,
while Kelli was in her room.
Then they went out for a drink.
And I locked myself in my room.
And I really started to come down.
It's all written down somewhere,
all messy and insane and paranoid.
I overdosed,
convinced I would be psychotic
forever and ever from then on.
Someone called 911.
Doc was asleep on the couch,
until the cops pounded on the door.
They barged in, looking for me.
A welfare check, they said.
Doc had no idea as they went
into our room to find me,
half naked
covered in black permanent marker.
Slurs all over my body and face.
I was totally incoherent.
I only remember flashes.
Being in the corner between the bed and the wall.
Big blue men coming at me,
booming voices raised.
I had to get away.
Anything just to get away.
but they got me.
And they held me.
And they wrestled with me.
And then there were more men.
And then I was laying down,
covered by a thin white blanket.
Clinging to a thin white blanket.

I woke up in the hospital.
Bright light over me.
Arms tied down,
tubes coming out of my foot.
Why were they coming out of my foot?
Back to the black,
only it's red because of the
bright light over me.

I wake up again.
My sister is over me.
I am naked.
The thin white blanket is gone.
I can hear Kelli,
telling me to cover up.
Explaining to me I was naked,
and my sister was there.
I am still strapped down.
Back to the black

I am crying as the bright light shines.
It seems no one is around.
I am so thirsty,
my throat is throbbing.
I can barely see a cup with a straw.
I lift my head, ouch, that hurts,
And look around myself.
The thin white blanket is back.
I see the pager for the nurse,
I am still strapped down to the bed.
I can't reach the pager.
Back to the black.

I awake in the psychiatric hospital.
A large orderly is checking on me.
It was the heavy, too silent
silence of the moving door that
woke me up.
I sit up and fall back down.
He chuckles and comes to me,
hands me a pair of my jeans and a tshirt.
Tells me it is time for dinner, and I should
really try to eat something,
I've been off the IV for 36 hours.
I get dressed in front of him
and pad behind him out to the dayroom
and follow the shuffling crowd of patients
into the ward exit hall that leads
to the cafeteria.

Later, I spend time alone,
taking inventory of my injuries.
I have been beaten, badly.
And the veins at my inner elbows
have been badly abused.
The dark purple bruises extend
half-way up and down my arms.
The orderly says that the cops
insisted I did that to myself,
trying to inject speed.
Well, that was a complete lie.
Other injuries, there was no
explanation for, aside from the time
I spent alone in my room,
"resisting" the big men in blue
with the loud, booming voices.
I got from Kelli and Doc that
I had ripped out my IV lines,
which explained the arms.
It also explained the tubes in my feet.
I had lost the better part
of five days to this.
Three of those days in the Er's
ICU, not even stable enough
for the move up to the real ICU.
It took the first 24 hours for Doc
to convince them he was my
legal husband and I had a lengthy
mental illness history in several states.
Kelli found my Medic-Alert bracelet
In the ashes of the fireplace.
Finally Doc and she, and my sister
got in to see me and to take care of me.
Because once I had a mental illness,
the only reason I continued to get care
was that I had damn good insurance.

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