While I was Sleeping
and your mind plays tricks
No. Yes.Umm..not quite sure now actually.
I thought I was asleep but upon awakening, my brain snapped a wire and now I’m back where I began. 10 years ago.
I suffer from a mental disorder called Mother Love Hate. Actually I named it so. Its proper name is Major Depression but I prefer to use my version of this ‘illness’.
In this state of brain fuzz, the patient spits out names that have some kind of connection with the patient. Generally these folk have hurt the patient somehow. Either by physical or emotional harm.
For instance. A person quits after being told that they weren’t good enough. This, says her psychiatrist, is a reflection of the disease and was integral with bringing it to the forefront of her frontal cortex.
It’s a very old disease and doctors and the whole medical fraternity are blindly looking into it for the upteenth time.
🧍🧘🤸🤾⛹️🏃🧑🦯🧑🦽🧑🦼🧎🏌️
Please come with me and I will show the innards of a well-nested psychiatric ward in Melbourne Australia.
Melbourne lies on the east coast of Australia.
The state Melbourne.is labelled the garden state. In reference to the massive amount of botanical gardens and parks. Wikipedia.
Here we are at the John Cade ward at Melbourne Hospital.
Or I should say The Royal Melbourne Hospital.
*****⛹️🏃 5 seconds later 🧎🧑🦼**
‘ Comfortable are we?’ says a patronizing nurse, dressed in a uniform of synthetic cotton and polyester.
The psychiatric team are just down the corridor on the left.
Let’s go knock and see what they have to say. Let’s go.
‘Bang bang you’re dead’, I say holding a pretend gun in my hand.
The top notch senior psychiatrist, Jenny Dakoz, opens the door.
She nearly falls backwards except I catch her fall with my foot. Accidentally on purpose, kicking her quite brutally in the shins. Nice one Ola.
Ola is one of the oldest members of this funny and antiginy
process.
‘Oww’ she hollers.
‘Oh you’re crying ‘, I state blandly.
I spit on the lino floor, while I wait patiently for what they don’t know.
I continue in this way with anyone who comes because I enjoy being irritating and frustrating toy way.
Folk who don’t take me seriously. Or anything involving a patronizing attitude
Infact, you could say that I am seriously fucked up. But in a good way. The clever method I like to call it.
I also give it out to those who are set in their ways: who can’t see the forest for the trees. Oh. Cliche.
In other words, I am a bit of a creep. And I can be nasty too. Ha. Got you. Head fuck plus. Major Depression my ass.
Afternoon and I lie on my bed reading. It’s a great day and the sun blinds my eyes as I peruse the pages of the psych manual I am reading. Fascinating.
Shattering, spluttering, slanting, shifting ,slipping, steeping, sloppily, stewing in my own filth.
Cars outside blare horns, crash into barriers while cops try to calm the public down.
Hot steaming sleeping dreaming peeling skin.picking sunbeams stream into my room.
It’s a bright plight light sight-blinded twice bite flight of fancy — fun sun glum in the slum — drum fingers lingering — dingaling ping pong.
Long for freedom from my mind.
Catch a fallen angel in flight.
Hard hats in spring with a feather cap on his head. Blue certainty.
Matters to you and I.
Stars.
The universe spinning on the axis of design and desire.
I fight the urge to plunder wonder if everything is alright.
It’s a habit in motion and time of tomorrow. Morning dawn waking stings brings rings retinas dead head bed mess med — i — cal emergency.
Not I.
The one down the corridor on the left. Door wide open for all to see. Let’s look inside her apartment.
I leave behind a note asking for a point of gear.
Give me now I say.
After whacking up I go outside and tell the people who care.
‘your lives are worth living ‘.
It’s a positive response to a comment left on a story I submitted to an online journal.
The note said ‘ change the sentences so they flow better ‘
I worked through the day and evening light, coming up with the exact same piece.
I submit it again.
No note and it is accepted.
Funny how people change.
I want to be published once I get out of this place.
God help me escape my thoughts of dying and drying up
Be creative. Try to be productive.
It is the only saving grace for a life not worth living.
