Girlhood/Interrupted
The comedic lifeline of being sent to mental hospital.
Dreams, the pure essence of our conscious. Searing and earning the abnormal weather we curse, we pursue, we coddle. Bellowing to our subconscious in love and in hatred because it’s ours to horde in times of distress. Carrying a child to term, birthing whims, and celebrating humanity in shallow terms. I had a dream that encased the stars, bias to a hospital room and callous white vibrations. Cherishing the worst of me to create the best of me.
I was sent to inpatient, a mental hospital at its core. My parents were gone, my phone was gone, I was gone; and alone, I hung myself to the raptures’… because that’s what one does when they’re scared. And along those raptures, Prejudice danced from tail to tail as we grasped, onto each other. Bellowing a light to lay from the unconventional walls of group therapy. But Honesty tethered to a smothered acceptance, embraces the wonder of the little spectacles sitting beside me. Who were they to say that? To question, that? To wonder, that? Till, you remember were all trapped, drained to a chain, like a hound to a dog.
Lexapro waltz on mars as I scribble pen to paper. Who I am is who I am, but the walls whisper and I bellow as the light sprung, shimmering on the duality of a prescription bottle. Abilify, Lexapro, Clonazepam, Diazepam, Zonogram etc. etc. They all stumble together
to make someone new. A purification, “neuroifcation”- this is who I am supposed to be, absolute, complete, indifferent to numbness. And yet, as the moon lushes to luck the sun’s taste… ashes to ashes. My pages flew and the earth twisted but, happiness lured over me with a question mark.
Leading me to wonder, how happiness swindles the wind? A laugh, is where we shall start. Yes, a laugh to grasp the momentary times we wrinkle- enchanting the crowds within ourselves, to witness the human face crack, not to question, but to wonder. The honor of the elderly as our lips stretches and cheeks fold. Entailing character lines to all that simmer in the sugar sweet salt of a joke. Yes, a laugh is where we shall start!
Coddled by strangers, laughter was an awe- a dire need, strained by polyester sweaters. They won’t tell you this, but mental hospitals aren’t like the movies at all. There are no padded walls, no cursor employees- just a circle of pubic picking girls huddled in mass, bruising their knees to a television screen as we argued between Edward and Jacob. A shadow is the hound strained to a dog as we giggled tears at the awkward tension behind the screen. Yes, there were cameras at every corner, but we captured the tail of pure pleasure within each other. To be hallow and to be loved is all we need. It’s why we trap ourselves in television screens and question the rapture of our mothers
“The only way we will survive is by being kind. The only way we can get by in this world is through the help we receive from others. No one can do it alone, no matter how great the machines are” -Amy Poehler
Me and Amy Poehler have always shared a similar mindset: waffles can be eaten at any time, blondes have more fun, and laughter… true innocent laughter is always best severed with friends. Inpatient severed me the solitude to read a book to its core… and what I trickled upon was Amy Pohler’s biography; “Yes, please.” A book based on the disobeying of every imbedded code, my social anxiety disorder prevailed me to do and just say yes! Say yes to improv, say yes to ice cream, say yes to love and say yes to divorce. Allowing me to Welcome life at its truest form, unfiltered.