I Wrote This In The Psych Ward

Saint Lukes

Today is my birthday and I was just released from the hospital. It was my first time to check into an adult mental health facility.

On my first day, the nurse yelled at the entire unit over cigarettes. She yelled about cigarettes while I looked at the ground, two floors down, wondering if the drop would kill me… I’m going to share more of my story in the days to come. But for now, I just want to say:

You can do this. You can make it through whatever you are going through! Stay one more day. I can’t promise it won’t be hell. I can’t promise you tomorrow will bring magical answers. But stay. New strength comes every morning.

If you are struggling, reach out. If your family and friends are not listening, reach out until they do! Pick up the phone and call the National Lifeline, drive to an emergency room, call 911, talk to your mom or dad, talk to your husband or wife, reach out to a teacher or a friend—anyone! Do whatever you have to do!

Because even if you don’t believe it, your life is worth the fight.

You deserve to get to the good part.


If you need support now, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255, the Trevor Project at 1-866-488-7386 or reach the Crisis Text Line by texting “START” to 741741.

If you or someone you know needs help, check out The Mighty‘s list of suicide prevention resources!

What It’s Like To Be A Writer

You’re waiting for poetry to spill from these lips,
sweet kisses like soft droplets of water.
I’ve nothing to offer.
These lying hands have retired their grip.
Drawn from wells of ink,
you feast, you don’t sip.
Douse the pages with gas, light a match
and pretend to read,
write another line like it’s the first time.
You don’t give a shit if the book can’t breathe!
But I carry the broken hands of the writer in my heart.
My soul and my lips never part.
I drew out my pain and you smeared it with dirt and solder—
lead in your lungs, down on your knees
begging me, “please, write another novel!”
You don’t know me.
Scatter my ashes among lonely trees, take another drink
look up to the Father,
affirm my sins like you’re more worthy than me.
What?
I’ve nothing to offer, but
sweet droplets of water,
broken hands around my heart, I can’t breathe.

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We Were Oil In Water

We stood against the waves, you and me
Faced hurricanes down on our knees like we were thirsting for water
Balled fists and bruised knees, we wouldn’t sink
We were oil in water

We held revenge in our hands, you and me
Bedridden with trauma, praying to doctors for compassionate release
Damn this terminal grief
Balled fists and bruised knees, we wouldn’t sink
We were oil in water

Now I see the light is gone, sister
Gone in you and me
Lost in darkness and fire, and the demons are screaming.
I don’t know
Damn this terminal need for the love we can’t breathe
I hear sin calling to me
Balled fists and bruised knees, we wouldn’t sink
We were oil in water

I don’t know if you’ve seen the same hope as me, but I’m hungry and my arms are tired
Hungry for life I crave for you, I crave for me
And they pray
They pray to a god they can’t see, and we scream for miracles we can’t feel

But we don’t reach, you and me
Lifejackets and boats, dead lighthouses with no ropes
Balled fists and bruised knees, we won’t sink
We are oil in water