Its about time I told you the truth, of how I almost lost all of my youth. With 12 admissions into asylums, in Forty odd years, the rest in recovery or drugged to the eyeballs in tears. Locked in a room-its your prison-but what have you done? Injected and jacketed, left believing that ‘You are the One’. Without window or view, for weeks on end, without a friend thats where you lose the plot. Forgetting everything you ever learned or even forgot.“Get a grip” is the way forward we’re told. But you lost your grip. now, you’re old. When sanity loses It’s grip we are told to hold on to the past, but when we do that, we find that nothing can last.
Trying to make sense of a story you made up yourself, makes even you know that the story you made up is the story that you’re surely losing your health.No one will ring you or call when you’re down and you’re out. Its easy to prove but you still try and turn it about.Your steely fragility tumbles all over the place. You take it out in the mirror as you look into your face. Thousands of volts are wasted, turning your brains into pulp. Now, no self control, or self confidence, it is all you can do to walk - but not out of this place.If you stick your neck out, then people will think that your motives are suspect at least, but with nothing to lose you can choose to say what you like, its such a release.Everyone says if you moan, that you’re “Wallowing in your own self pity”, but If they went to this place in their heads, they would know the meaning of empathy.”Stigma”, another word that they so like to use, to describe what they really don’t know. For some It has dragged Its heels in their lives, and put on quite a good show.It gives me such sorrow and grief, so much anguish to write all this down. Think what you will, in the end its for me, I don’t care, you were never around.