F*CK NORMAL

Be kind to me…

I need to be accepted in this weird place. You get to walk into work, begrudgingly because you had to drop off your child and run out the door. Frustrated by tripping over jackets and shoes from last NOC. I am awaken by your hurried co-worker who’s ready to get out of this building and yelled at if the new medication makes me groggy. I didn’t sleep in my bed, like you. I slept on a hard, stiff, generic mattress in threadbare sheets. I know how difficult it was for you to stop your alarm and roll out of your warm, comforting, familiar bed. I was ready to get up and away from my roommate’s watching eyes and my own nightmares. You complain because the line at Starbucks was slower than you wanted it to be. I know how deserved you are of that Caramel Macchiato! I sit patiently in a room with other hurting men and woman and wait for my lukewarm 8oz of black coffee-tar.

Be kind to me…

I am surrounded by boys and girls with scars… those visibly wrapped by bandages, those of the heart, and those like me, with the deepest scars of all – the personality -the soul. I sit and listen to ten different people’s conversations instead of my own thoughts. Someone answers long forgotten questions asked, only moments before. I know your granola bar wasn’t as satisfying as the pancakes shown on Perkin’s billboard you drove past, but I bet it was better than the barely warm scrambled egg substitute, limp-fatty bacon, and the not-quite-burnt, butterless toast you served me.

Be kind to me…

Yes, I considered taking the “easy road” to stop the pain/fear/hurt/disappointment that I am. Can you imagine how desperate one has to be to be willing to step into the next – dark – unknown. I made the hardest step of all and told someone. Secretively, I asked for help – seeking, begging without words. I know listening to report is boring and only exciting when some awful drama occurs throughout the night before, but my trained ear can hear your whispered giggles. Instead of hearing about all the doings, I get to listen to the 40ish year old man sitting at the middle table, yelling praises to “The Most Holy” and the 20ish year old man in the corner yelling back at him to “Shut It!” before he plops his head back down, on top of his crossed arms. These conversations are scary and intimidating. You might hate the day you’re having, but if the pregnant, sobering, hormonal, and homicidal woman decides to throw her chair and toss her table at the maniac sitting next to her, you are safe. You can duck behind your desk before you are required to act. I will be in the middle of the action, protecting myself from these other crazies! My whole body is ready for fight or flight, but I am barricaded within this concrete room.

Be kind to me…

While I chose to be here, someone else is hurriedly jumping over my kid’s jackets and shoes. Someone else is kissing my baby goodbye and snoozing my alarm.

Be kind to me…

When you reluctantly head to work, compassionately consider those stuck in the small box in front of your station. We are the ones who are paralyzed simply because we can’t trust our big emotions. Fearfully we are looking out, wanting out… but we know it’s better for everyone that we are in here. Unable to thrive, I willingingly handed my freedom to you…to strangers. Please, Please…

Be kind to me…

It’s literally, the only influential thing I have at this point.

Broken,

Nix

I wrote this in 2018 during my first stay in a psychiatric facility, or as they like to be called now: Behavioral Health Facilities. I wrote this in the one notebook they provided us during our onboarding process, and the one pen-insert their policies determined I was allowed. It was a time of my life, and I ended up becoming grateful for it.