the thing with feathers
oh wow. i just had this inspiration for a tattoo:


over my heart, a small wire birdcage with the door standing open and a few feathers floating in the air outside of it, as if what was trapped in the cage had just been set free.



Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
Emily Dickinson
 

we hit concrete @ 11:47 PM

 

time travel is love
brought to you by the isLove Generator

 

we hit concrete @ 8:23 PM

  thoughts on bukowski
I kneel in the nights
before tigers
that will not let me be.
...
the tigers have found me
and I do not care.


these hands are so heavy.
they crumble under the weight of a cigarette,
of three small pills, a book of matches.

the wolves have taken my voice away
and my fingers bear the burden of silent speech.

what end will we make of the hours of the evening.

tell me of comfort to be found in the ticking of a clock,
the sharp spill of of broken glass.

sing me to sleep in the sunburnt earth.
write for me the story I search for in the white ceiling.
 

we hit concrete @ 12:23 AM

  last night i dreamed i was in seattle. 

we hit concrete @ 7:33 AM

  possibly maybe
I'm feeling a lot more optimistic about this whole thing. I'm starting to adjust to all the pills so I don't feel so zomboid; now I just need to get my appetite back before I waste away. I've got some pepperoni pizza in the oven.

I'm still quite anxious about being Out in Public, especially since night driving is definitely not an option due to the huge blazing trails that headlights leave on my retinas, but i don't feel so horribly desperate when the sun goes down.

I've got a huge stack of library books and a fuckload of oatmeal to get me through this week.

holla. 

we hit concrete @ 7:03 PM

  black hoodies
this makes me happy. 

we hit concrete @ 11:09 AM

  how I spent my fall break, part 1
I think possibly the most depressing thing about watching the election coverage was watching it locked up in a small cold room with a handful of angry schizophrenics.

Let me backtrack: this summer half of my best friends went to Europe. last week I took my vacation at the Memphis Mental Health Institute.

See, I don't have insurance. So when the Pill Doctor ignores my frantic calls about my meds making me vomit, this sort of crazy desperation takes hold of me and certain options begin to seem rational. the blade. the fire. the burning.

I'm exhausted. I've been fighting this on and off for something like 13 years now. last Monday I sat watching the rain float in the air and this greyness started to creep in through every pore. a few hours later I found myself crying on Tina at the coffee shop and she told me, if you don't call the hospital, I'm going to call your dad and tell him to take you.

I go home and google memphis mental hospitals. make phone calls. St Francis requires a five thousand dollar deposit if you are uninsured. MMHI tells me they need a doctor referral. I see my doctor tuesday, so I call him and leave him a message and tell him I want to be committed. I call my therapist and talk to her about it. I pack my suitcase. Nothing sharp. no shoelaces. I choose some books: el otoño del patriarca and nausée. how very appropriate. the melodrama is overwhelming. I write several cryptic livejournal entries that prompt visits from Squidge, Ray Ray, Tina, and Pony.

I listen to "thunder road" over and over.
you can hide beneath your covers and study your pain, make crosses for your lovers, throw roses in the rain, waste your summer praying in vain for a savior to rise from these streets...

I chainsmoke.

Somehow I sleep.

I wake up and go vote, then sit around here waiting. So much waiting. So many hours.
Fianlly I go to the Pill Doctor. He calls MMHI and tells me I have to go to the Med and be admitted thru the emergency room. I make more frantic phone calls. My dad picks me up and we drive to the med.

more waiting. more hours.

they walk me back to the lakeside triage unit and I talk to a psych nurse. I sit in a small room with two locked doors off of it. a woman yells and begs through one of the doors. her yelling disintegrates into an angry battle with herself.

through another door into a narrow room. it is bitterly cold. huddled figures sit shrouded in white blankets. the walls are filthy with dried yellow spatters, and it reeks of urine and bleach.
I sit beneath the blinding flurorescent lights and stare numbly at the television. the schizophrenics yell and moan, rock back and forth as if bowing to some merciless god, and leave bloody puddles of urine on the floor.
every two hours they pass out slushy orange juice and graham crackers.

after endless hours of watching ststes turn red the despair hits hard. I hide in one of the plexiglass fronted "privacy rooms" and sit in a corner. I cry until I retch and bang my forehead on the wall until it bleeds. boredom breeds panic attacks. I am interviewed.

I wait, and I wait, and I wait. the toilets flood, the schizophrenics pace in front of the office window and make eerie threats. their laughing is the sound of hyenas closing in on a campfire.

after 15 hours I am handcuffed and driven over to the mental hospital. 

we hit concrete @ 8:43 AM

  the adventures of little Miss Diagnosis
mm. so apparently I was misdiagnosed and am NOT bipolar and in fact suffer from extreme depression with anxiety and agitation. and have been since I was about 9.


on lots of meds.

tight. 

we hit concrete @ 11:33 AM

  I keep a room at the hospital...
I'll be away for a while.  

we hit concrete @ 7:53 AM