Mind ShamblesWent to see my brother today.
He is in a secure hospital due to many things including scitzophrenia, diabetes, and events and circumstances too long to list.
I love him, miss him, but feel so sad both for him, at the system, at life, etc.
I cant fix it, and I fix things, as I cant fix me so rely on being able to sort everything else to feel I have value and purpose.
Also, it could so easily be me, and I am bot sure how to handle the mess if feelungs knowing its not.
Its complicated and sucks.
I wrote something about it. I'm just overheated, emotional and also numb. No need for feedback, just using the fedi as a void for therapy.
#depression #family #MentalIllness #poetrytherapy
A hot day of doors
Got there early.
Took the train on what I heard was
the hottest day of the year,
according to the cheery weather person.
It was too hot.
From the train to the bus station,
and a hot wait on something,
halfway between a seat and a wall,
designed to make every position
uncomfortable.
Then 30 minutes of plastic shaking
seatbelt-less terror,
occasionally feeling thin lines of cold air,
teasing me as it sneaked through
the supposed windows.
And finally, my sweat beaded head,
and more besides,
get beeped through a gate.
Then the door.
Then another door, but only after
locking everything I had into
a clear locker, like a tiny shop window,
gazed at by all the waiting people.
A full pat down next,
I felt sad for the guy, knowing how
the 'perfect beach weather'
only added to my unsavoryness.
Nothing in my shoes, hair,
or pockets.
Then, escorted through more locked doors
till I sit down, in a kitchen with
an oceam themed wallpaper mural,
pealing slowely at the join between
a shoal of fish
and a comedically large jellyfish,
opposite a clock, 2 and a half hours slow,
hanging at an odd angle high on the back wall.
I feel the gaze of the two uniformed staff,
sitting close enough to feel intrusive
but far enough away to pretend
not to be listening.
I hand over a card.
"Happy Birthday", "how are you",
"any news from the doctors?",
"how about the court?".
Small talk is hard to come by in the heat.
40 minutes stretched out to a lifetime,
compacted into a moment.
Then back, through doors,
security doors, exit doors, security gates,
bus doors, giant glass train station doors,
beeping train doors,
my front door.
Home.
My home.
Just the one door,
with my key,
hanging on its wooden rack.
igorgoldkind
