Monday, November 8, 2010

The Corridor

each week I walk the corridor
in my disguise
sharp flashes of terror
frustrated cries
of the unheard
unheard and 
once bright minds 
and sound hearts
now deaf
and blind
damn deceptive choice! 
how could a self-destructive mind know
that to come up for air
is to lose its voice?
lured into fabricated despair
spinning webs of delusion 
a broken spirit in need of repair
on the dotted
line separating body
and mind
a word or two or three
etched into their very beings
random scientific classification
labelled for mere identification 
empty, numb, vessels
doped up on medication 
she’s “sick”, they say
to eliminate all expectation 
I walked the corridor
in my disguise
confidence carefully applied
painted on
like the blackened lashes
shadowing my eyes
eyes following the echo
 of my heels that strike
striking resemblance
between me 
and the woman on the inside
don’t dare look back 
head high
pace brisk
a single wrong move 
could reveal the falseness
shrouded in my imaginary suit and tie
the show must go on 
to prove I’m alive

surge ahead 
fixated on the sign
dictating to me 
a disease that does define
who I am 
who I will never be
I make the choice 
to set my voice free
I can’t be here
a voice inside denies
I walk by
she smiles 
a sympathetic smile
barely raising her eyes 
from the stacked pile
the stacked pile of random diagnoses
a haphazard list of convenient prognoses

without names 
without goals
without hope
waiting in rows 
to get refills for their dope
have their souls undressed
have their minds possessed
come back next week 
to be reassessed
I sit next to a man 
he stares down at this feet
too lost in deception to meet
my eyes 
as they search for his soul
its too late
just a dark 
he took their bait
he swallowed their hook 
now stuck deep in his throat
each attempt to set himself free 
lodges it deeper
in me
in you
in every man 
and every woman 
that chooses not to speak 
from behind glass
she calls out
with the name
my mother gave me
the moment I was free
I died

Jen  ...  ni  ...  fer

each syllable
of my name
tears away at my flesh
with a deafening ring
Don’t know me this way!
Don’t you dare call out to me!
I refuse to give in!
I will set myself free!
from your labels
from your drugs
from your stale sympathy

you have no clue who I am 
and who 
I walked the corridor 
without my disguise
the shame
and fear 
hung next to the lies
in the closet of my past 
my past is 
and always will be 
a real part of me
I won’t run
I won’t hide
I will allow myself to heal
to feel
the pain
that stains 
an innocence
lost in vain
to let go
 of the blame
to remember the darkness
but not let it win
or weaken my will
me is a flame
passed on
from those I let in
a flame of passion 
and hope
of love 
and trust
a renewed Trust in the One
the One
with Whose love I am blessed
as I walk out 
of the corridor
I give thanks 
for the darkness 
that has set me free
for a deadly struggle
that forced me to see
Truth as True
my life as a lie
shake the Etchesketch 
learn once again how to fly


  1. Assalam alaykum, Sara recommended we become friends on FB (I am Amal) I saw the link to this blog & was intrigued when I saw the title.. Mashallah I understand where you are coming from as I have been very sick from the same "label" off and on at times..

    Currently I am not following dr. orders exactly (I stopped one of meds) and a little more hyper/social than normal.. as you could probably tell on my FB.

    Sara and a few of my friends know about my dx (& a few on my FB have the same DX-we know each other from support groups), but I am not very open as people do not understand.. they judge prematurely & there is stigma. I made the mistake of when I was extremely delusional & eventually psychotic of begging people/telling too many people & they thought I was schizo when I was in a very extreme case of psychotic depression.. Alhamdulilah, I am fine now in that dept.

    Anyways, sorry to come here like this & maybe you find it odd.. I just felt the need to comment.

  2. I am a LIGHTFORCE phycotene distributor since 1993 - it is a RAINBOWfamily gift. My house was begun in 1981, and represents me psychotically. parents CHUCK and GRETCHEN bouwsma have neglected my violin and computer programing in favor of mental illness from social security medicare medicaid medi-gap I became a SUZUKI violin star in 1969 the only child left of 7 hippies my nearest sibling david is 4years older has an ARCHITECTURE degree from the University of micHIGAn has done nothing but abandon my homework