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Array
(
[sid] => 22352
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => club meds - #3
[time] => 2003-08-26 01:05:00
[hometext] => was hospitalized not long ago for depression and met some extraordinary people; did not want to forget them or the experience, so have (and still am) written a series of "club meds" (a name for the hospital, dubbed by a guest).
[bodytext] => you know that flowers don’t grow in your room, you told me, but said you’ll go and cut them anyway. the fiery holes in the floor, like pits to hell, they scare you, but you are drawn to them to see if really there. last night your arm fell off, so you picked it up and put it back on, said could you do it for real, you’d be a rich man. i first saw you sitting, on the sofa in the common room, your eyes half closed or shut, your mouth open. seemed you’d rather sleep, than join our conversation, but we started telling jokes, and you told a few good ones. at lunch, you told me a crude joke, with a no thanks, i walked away, and wanted nothing more to do with you. then, i learned you suffer hallucinations, the worst kind, the kind that you can see, and hear, and feel. once more, your meds stopped working, so increase the dose, but you’re now maxed out, no higher dosage after this. so add another pill to the mix, hope for no adverse effects, hope it works and hope, this time, it lasts. i was playing solitaire, and you sat down to watch me, told me a move or two, so i looked at you. i saw from a different perspective, and caught a glimpse of who you were, inside and asked if you would like to play. you replied, you’d only get confused and wiping your mouth, apologized, said the meds sometimes made you drool. i didn’t notice, and it doesn’t matter to me anyway, heard that you grew up same place as i, small world. and are you feeling better yet, how old are you, and how long have you suffered this, it must be hard. and you began to talk to me, and i would ask you to repeat yourself, as you talk low and fast, the meds, you said. and you know that flowers don’t grow in your room, you told me, but said you’ll go and cut them anyway. the fiery holes in the floor, like pits to hell, they scare you, but you are drawn to them to see if really there. last night your arm fell off, so you picked it up and put it back on, and you have beautiful blue eyes. you started seeing things when you were young, that must have been difficult in school, did you have friends i asked. you said you did, but no one else could see them, and then one day, they stopped liking you and went away. i’m sorry i said, and you just shrugged, that’s ok and smiled at me, then said good night, and see you tomorrow. each day you seemed a little better, and said it helps to have a sense of humor and shared a poem with some of us. said, roses are red and violets are blue and i’m schizophrenic and so am i. i couldn’t help but smile with you. four years younger than me, and now on complete disability, your cousin and only friend in the state is dying of cancer. told me that you’ve lately seen some relatives, now dead, and your cousin will be going with them soon. unlike the others, this, more real, you asked me what i thought, i said i believe there’s more than what we see, perhaps they were. sometimes you get confused, maybe wander to the wrong room, but said you’d never hurt anyone, so just to tell you, not your room. you took my hand on my birthday, put some money in my palm, i did protest but you said no, please take it, happy birthday. i hugged you, but i had juice in my hand and spilled it down your back, i am so sorry, and so glad you had your jacket on. then someone laughed, what did i spill this time, i told you thank you for your gift and thought to myself, you give what you don’t have, with joy. and you know that flowers don’t grow in your room, you told me, but said you’ll go and cut them anyway. the fiery holes in the floor, like pits to hell, they scare you, but you are drawn to them to see if really there. last night your arm fell off, so you picked it up and put it back on, and you have a lovely smile. one morning you tapped me on the back, said look, and there you stood with glasses on, look nice i said, and how are you. good just now, but later in the day, may get a little worse, so i said i’d keep an eye out, call you back if you checked out. later in the common room, we were talking in a group, and afterwards, you asked me if you’d been there. i gave you a poem of mine to read, a short one i thought you might relate to, and you read it, then said you didn’t understand. so i read each line, telling what it meant, and you smiled, told me thanks much for taking time to explain, i said sure. i can hear our hometown accent in your voice now, sounds good to me, and we talked of things remembered there. you’ve learned to cope by facing your hallucinations, if there’s nothing in your hand when you come back, it wasn’t real. so far, your meds will work a while, till your body builds up tolerance, then back to this place, try again and hope once more. tonight you add the new drug to the others, the doctor apprehensive of the mix, but you’re running out of options, running out of time. your cousin and only friend will not be there when you go home, you’re all alone with only thirty days of lifetime benefits left to go. if this fails, next time you’ll have to go to county, and likely after that, the street, yet you still start each day with hope. and i leave today, with a big hug you said you’d miss me, we traded phone numbers to keep in touch. you are a man of strength and courage, and i’m grateful for the gift of knowing you. i will keep you in my thoughts and in my heart. yes, you know that flowers don’t grow in your room, you told me, but said you’ll go and cut them anyway. the fiery holes in the floor, like pits to hell, they scare you, but you are drawn to them to see if really there. last night your arm fell off, so you picked it up and put it back on, and i will miss you, too. [comments] => 4 [counter] => 159 [topic] => 21 [informant] => painted_echos [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 9 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems )
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