family can be a strange thing.
One minute you’re loved then the next you’re like a pestilence,
an unwanted being.
Of course, bringing it upon oneself, well, that’s something different,
but in the end, I was made the tyrant,
laid away on the shelf
though only temporarily.
And I suppose, I suppose it is so,
this falling-apart thing that happens to my mind
when I go temporary awry,
is this the pushing button inside, or on my brain
that makes me ill for two closed months
when I’m made to be locked away,
my words spoken loudly in vain?
I am just a patient,
mentally, I have delusions,
grand, carried out about the land
and while I whine and scream,
still want to shine,
in my hand a small cup
of perilous potions to be sucked down inside.
The system wants to treat,
they do it in the best ways they can
but some they cannot help
people like me initially
on medications I feel they burden me,
There’s nothing different about health these days
in fact, there IS, but in time I will realise
that some just wanted to help
some were happy for me to shine
and like the ordinary world,
with some others, they wouldn’t pay my words
I understand I can’t always please,
temporarily the medicine makes me want to heave
there’s just so much of it,
my addled mind,
years ago progressed from bipolar
to schizoaffective disorder,
whilst in my “prime”.
This tale can go on far, far longer
but I won’t give away the book,
I just want others to have a peek in,
have a tiny look,
and oblige me this favour,
won’t you take my words,
many were my saviours,
but most of all,
family, friends, and a brave tolerant doctor.
And her protégé, of course,
but I cannot name her.
© 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
Cartoon photo by mohamed_hassan on Pixabay
Original photo of myself