Inside These Four Walls
Prose poem about our experiences shut inside mental health inpatient treatment
The cold winter day doesn’t touch my skin. I stay in this room all day. The black bars on the window don’t make me feel trapped.
I feel secure here inside these four walls.
The bed is comfortable enough, even though the plastic is hard and cold.
The blankets are thinly knitted.
You don’t keep warm at night, but the pillow is nice. It’s plastic too so you can’t eat the stuffing inside.
The hallway patrol is on the dot.
Fifteen minutes marches.
The boots on the floor wake you from sleep every time.
You can’t sleep here.
You wake at dawn and stand in line for food.
The food is not bad or good.
There are no metal utensils, it’s all plastic.
After you eat they give you the pills.
Not in a little clear cup like in the films, but in a plastic white cup with your initials. They watch you take them, but only if you don’t comply.
Never let them catch you in a lie.
