1. CAN'T WON'T SCREAMING SCREAMING SCREAMING
can't get out of bed. eyes won't won't focus. fingers can't hold spoon. spoon can't can't to lips. sarah screaming screaming screaming. 10 20 30 40 45 46 minutes. she sleeps. i sit. can't move. won't contemplate what i want to do. to her to me. again again again. his voice accusing me....YOU wanted to have kids...THIS is the result. good good good. thanx thanx thanx. can love be mandated by a pill. or many? i'm jerking from nightmare to nightmare. poor becca, we lay side by side each sucking a different finger. what does mommy do all day? she rests she rests she rests. and then she takes a rest from resting. the poison is posturing...toxicity triumps. oh where oh where has my lucidity gone, oh where oh where can she be? with my throat cut short and my wrists cut long....where oh where should i be

2. EXUDING POISON
for a few days now, i've been free of poison and it's been wonderful though i've felt very depressed...but not poisoned. today, i starting being poisoned again. it was in the air i breathed, in the food i ate...but yet i continued to breathe, i continued to eat. all day long. all nite long. so by now, i am so utterly toxic i feel like every cell in my body is going to explode because the ionic concentrations of my membranes are all fucked up. i should have called poison control. i should have done something different but i did not. i ate and ate and ate, knowing all the time that everything i ate was hurting me terribley. by carrying on today, as normal, i mutilated myself as horribly as i have ever done. i should have left, i should have escaped somewhere.....but really i didn't because i haven't found that place yet. my head is going to explode i swear to g-d. tomorrow when you see me and i don't have a head you won't be suprised because i have forewarned you. my sinuses are schrieking, my eyes attached by only a thread and my mouth rushes with raw sewage. i've yet to find a mouth wash that will help. even my breasts....are dripping poison. this depakote was supposed to make me safe from the poison...but it's only opened up another channel from which it can pour out of me....into the environment...and in turn....contaminate me once again. i pray to the g-d of purity..find me an omnipotent antagonist.... infiltrate my veins
my cavities
my soul
with pure white
antidotal clouds

3. GIVING UP
physical pain + unmanageabley cruel children + unfruitful job searching + endless hours locked in bureaucratic combat + vanishing self esteem = cyclical social withdrawl + self medication + shut down. two extremes. i sit in my room, shaking, raging, fists clenched, cursing everything and everyone that was ever born and died...because i don't know how i'm going to keep myself from slapping sarah into oblivion. or i'm a crumbled ball of nerves weeping silently as i pretend to read the paper. sarah screams nightmare stories of self harm and abandonment at me, her face bright red. i cringe when she puts her face to mine and growls....her spit mingling with my tears. what is a mother to do. social worker, phd. child psychologist, 2 pediatric pshrinks....best (alledgedly) in the city. now i remember so well, how i could think of killing myself. it all seems so hopeless. what is the point. we are all beyond salvation. should have gone to the food store days ago. can't make myself do it. we alternate peanut butter, spagetti, peanut butter spagetti. could be worse, right? that's the problem life goes on and i can't keep up. finally gave the kids a bath after over a week. felt so triumphant. i did it. they're clean. the next day....dusty and dirty again, like kids are wont to do. but i don't have the reserves to bathe them again. took me a week to build up administering bath they had yesteray. life goes on. but i don't. don't want to. look for a job, you've got to be kidding. i can't even open the paper, let alone read it. print is too smalll....don't want to get dirty again. i've yet to see a job description i would match: "wanted: highly zoned out individual to lie in bed 24-hours-a-day, rocking slightly, moaning...drifting in and out of consciousness. thumb sucking skills a plus." don't fear, my friends. just now....fate reached up and grapped g-d sharply by her wrist. i was certain tonite would be the end...just couldn't continue this way any more. then, i came out to fix supper for the kids....saw them both sitting at the table with the classified ads spread out before them. "we're looking for work!" sarah beamed up at me. "yes", chimed rebecca, "we're sharing 'work' mazagines (yes that's how she says it 'mazagines'). ^ my eyes moistened and my throat shut tight with emotion as i realized that inspite of the horrible problems i (we) had been having lately....somehow...someway...there was an atom of hope. they still wanted to emulate mommy. i saw in this fraction of a second....they still loved me, inspite of all the spitting growling screaming cursing threatening denying. in choosing life for myself, i choose life for them. tonite, i can still choose life.

ANOTHER LADY IN HER OWN WORDS...

What does it feel like to be mentally ill? It is difficult to say at the moment, because I'm between episodes. The closest analogy I can think of is like trying to dodge arrows without my glasses on while a heavy metal song is playing in my ears full blast, and my cat is running around my feet wailing to be fed. Things come at me too fast, I can't concentrate on anything, I feel threatened, and nothing looks right. Everything feels related to me. When I catch a line of a message, it seems to be meant just for me, and not kindly, either. Nathaniel Hawthorne captured that grandiose feeling in *The Scarlet Letter* when Rev. Dimmesdale sees a red streak in the sky and interprets it as the letter A, standing for Adultery. My mind works too fast. Other people seem to be operating infinitely slowly, and apparently on purpose to annoy me. I can't get people to listen, and I don't trust them if they do. A social worker at the hospital told me that people tend to get involved with arguing points with me during these times, and forget that I am sick. I just seem hard to live with, and because I am painfully aware of my surroundings during these times, I cannot even claim that the illness robs me of reality. Instead it darkens shadows, makes edges sharper, and destroys my judgement so that I don't know when to quit arguing or how to relate to people. During the last three months I have been hospitalized a total of 18 days, never more than 10 days at a time. I ran the gamut from suicidal depression, to grandiose and almost euphoric feelings of power, to a state of panic and terror which mixed aggressiveness and depression. I attempted suicide with a lethal dose of antidepressants in September. In late September I was arrested by 6 officers, and was able to talk my way out of the hospital the next day. In early November I threatened suicide again, claiming that the powers of the world had destroyed my life, and that they refused to allow me to die, which I considered my only alternative since I believed that I had been fired from my job and that I would have to live on the street. Needless to say, I was delusional. My friends don't know how to react when I'm in the middle of an episode. Doctors and nurses don't know how to react either. I'm isolated from everyone when I get into these states, and cannot be reached until the illness goes away.

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ANOTHER EXAMPLE...(by the way, a personal point. This person is one of us who is brave enough to "come out of the closet" with her true identity and "illness". I call it courage.

Here's my poem again. You can use my real name, I don't care. I have nothing to hide or be ashamed of!!!!!

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%% The Abyss: Depression's Victorious Roar Written 23 November 91 (7 months after my diagnosis)

The Abyss is deep within the soul
of Depression's helpless victim.

Pleading for help, Begging for relief.

The Abyss is no fun,
It is a deep hole of doubt.

It is dark, like a cave,
It pulls you in.

It feels icky, like sweat
On a hot summer day.

There's a deep, dull heaviness
That plagues the heart . (PLEASE HELP!)

A Cloudiness fills the mind
Threatening to pilfer sanity.

You try to run, you can't-
It's grip too tight. (PLEASE HELP!!)

You try to scream,
You can't- your throat is too hoarse.

Tears drench your eyes,
Like teardrops on a window.

There;s no where to run,
No where to hide- no escape!!

People try to help-
They're all fake.

Trust no one!
Show no pain!!

Your bed is your only refuge
from the battle.

You can't sleep-
Your mind is plagued

By thoughts running wildly
Taunting you from beyond.

You are fighting to live,
Yet wishing to die (PLEASE HELP!!)

It's all just an endless,
Losing battle.

Depression roars victoriously,
Laughing at your defeat.

How does it make you FEEL?
It hurts, doesn't it? (PLEASE HELP!!)

And the pain rides on and on. . .
%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%
I hope this is what you are looking for. I have more, shorter stuff. LEt me know what you think and if you decide to use it.

Love and Hugs,
>--->@Brenda S. Caldwell (cuddles@mindspring.com)@--<--<

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A PUBLISHED POEM!

Robbie, you MUST include the copyright This was PUBLISHED! :))

XMAS IN 2 NORTH

(note: CA is the isolation area or quiet room)
by Donna S. Rubin
copyright 1996 Rapid Psychler Press

Twas the night before Xmas; it had been a long day,
Two North was quiet, yes, even CA!
Most patients were warmly tucked in their beds
It was after 10, so they’d all had their meds.
At the desk sat Debbie, busy on the phone,
There were folks in the sunroom where a movie was shown.
In the dining room artwork adorned all the walls,
And earlier that day, they’d sung ‘Deck the Halls’.
Socks were hung in the laundry room with care,
In hopes that a new dryer soon would be there.
In the kitchen lay remains of cookies and cake,
It’s amazing how much of a mess people make!
A patient was crying, in need of TLC,
Another one sat, fast asleep at TV.
The census was high, folks of all ages,
All recovering, in different stages.
Suddenly, footsteps were heard to sound,
The nurses got up and began looking around.
No patient was missing, CA was secure,
What’s going on? They couldn’t be sure.
They thought, could it be, just like in the poem?
Where St. Nick visits somebody’s home?
One nurse exclaimed, “We could sure use a hero!”
And who should appear but Dr. Shapiro!
Not Santa at all, just a very nice man,
Who does for his patients whatever he can.
As do all of the staff, from doctors to aides,
And they get all too few of their deserved accolades.
I give this to them, my holiday verse,
I’m a former patient, who once felt alot worse.
To all who’re admitted, try to have hope and good cheer,
Whatever solace you need, you will find it here.
However you celebrate, whatever your rite,
Happy holidays to all, and to all a good night!

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ONE FROM A YOUNG LADY...

Went to three therapists for 10 years, they've helped somewhat. Constantly read self-help books, yet still feel out-of-touch, and have no direction in life. Finally separated from parents because I felt they were destructive in my quest to be true to myself. Last therapist suggested I see a psychiatrist to be diagnosed if I was eligible to receive medication. I did not see it through because the fee was too expensive for me, and the medication would be too much as well.

Still wondering if there's something wrong with me or if this is just a part of Life.

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A MAN'S TALE...

I am 36 with no insurance and no way of getting any. Because of the cost of this illness I can no longer afford meds. At this writing I am in the midst of a particularly bad deppressive spell. The worst part about it is I know I'm not alone, My heart goes out to all of you who not only suffer from this illness, but also a world that would otherwise turn it's backs on us.

How long will it take the general public to wake up and not allow insurance companys to discriminate against mental illness???

If you do have insurance and you happen not to have a mental illness what would it take to get you to make a phone call to your insurance comp. and ask them why?????? mental ilness is only covered 50%. Ask them why they can't issue policies to the mentally ill? write your congressman, the president. We can't change public opinion and policy by ourselves, we need the help of the healthy who still have a heart.

We don't ask for a handout, just an equal chance at a functional life.

All it takes is a phone call or a letter. Thanks to those of you willing, and peace to the kindred.

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HERE IS A STORY FROM "JOE"...

I have been to see more therapists than I could ever count, in my life. I remember the ones when I was in elementary school, because I got to get out of class. They and most of the others left little or no impression on me. On the other hand there have been some special, important ones. No doubt the most important was Diane. She started seeing me right after I got out of the hospital and left my 2nd wife and accepted for good that I was sick. I stayed with her for 13 years. It was she who saw the value in the girl I was dating, saw her patient stability and knew how much I needed that and talked me into keeping her. It was she who gradually taught me how normal people communicate. I talked with her about sexual dysfunction. As a teen when my first girlfriend kissed me, I was doubled over with emotional pain, anguished for two weeks, unable to function or to understand what waqs happening to me. Diane and I spent years talking about this and other incidents in my life. She was sure that they represented signs of sexual abuse somewhere in my past. We routed around through all my memories and never turned up anything, but she was convinced there was something lurking in my subconscious. The day came 3 years ago our office moved, and I couldn't get to her any more. As a parting gift I gave her the marquetry nude portrate I had done of my former wife, one of the best things I have ever done in wood. And a wonderful hug. This past fall I had a day to myself, I went downtown to look at the exaggerated sculptings of Botero on the mall, and I went by the house I grew up in too ... and it happened that all the pieces finally came together. I was not ever physically abused. I believe that therapists today tend to convince patients of things that never happened, just as teachers are sometimes convicted of crimes they never committed. For me the answer lay in my role model. I was never myself the "hurt, abused one". Most of the time I act like the aggressor, the tease, the know- it-all, the boss. Of course my wife has been gradually teaching me how to be affectionate, kind, in an equal-basis way. But every now and then there is another "me" that comes out, when someone is angry with me and I can't handle it. At those times I turn into the weak, "please don't hurt me I can't defend myself" that my mother was ... I wasn't hurt myself, I just copied her. Its taken me 30 years to unravel that mystery. Probably therapy helped, I wouldn't have ever done it alone. But you'd think it could have been done a little faster ...

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HERE IS ANOTHER MAN'S EXPERIENCE...

I am a 44 year old male diagnosed bipolar in the mid 70's. I was young and strong then, only dealt with it when I had to. I've been married 4 times, I,ve had more jobs than I can count. Life is a very unstable place!

My "disorder" had progressed to the point that I was unemployable (SSA for the last 5 years.) Numerous hospital stays, meds by the bucket changing any time the medicos got stumped. Thank God I had enough brain to say no to shock therapy! Nothing seemed to work. Treatment resistant, was mentioned a lot. I've sinced learned that it's not the illness that is resistant-It's the doctor! Most of them quit, they don't question anymore-no research,no more investigating-prescribe a new drug-see you next week.

All it took was one doctor (after many doctors and many wasted years) to look beyond and see the pattern of my illness. To see that most of my depressions came in the winter and mania came in spring. I knew that and suspected a clue was there somewhere, but all the medicos said it was natural, everyone got a little juiced in spring and everyone experienced a let-down in the winter.

I've sinced discovered while that may be true, there is a specific diagnosis and, best of all, effective treatment. Seasonal Affective Disorder and light therapy.

I am off all medications and for the first winter in 10 years, I am working! I've even started my own business manufacturing and selling light boxes. I had forgotten how good it feelt to have hope. I would suggest to anyone that if they don't feel that thier doctor is providing effective treatment... seek another doctor! No matter what it takes! Don't stop!
"The important thing is to not stop questioning"
-Albert Einstein

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A YOUNG LADY...

Here's my own story, hope it helps a bit...

I spent the first months of my treatment alternating between outright hate and tolerance of my pdoc. I think looking back now that I was displacing a bit of my fear and frustration onto him. Also, though it took some getting used to his "style". I had to learn how to communicate.

What it did come down to for me was that I felt I had to wait a bit to find out if the treatment was working... I went through pitfalls such as not getting calls returned, etc.

Now I am doing okay. Life is not easy, but things are much better, I feel. I learned I wasn't communicating enough with him, and I think he's learned a bit about me. He returns my calls promptly now, too. I still don't really like him, but the treatment is working and that's the bottom line. I have my therapist for my non-med needs.

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NOT ONLY DO ADULTS SUFFER FROM "MENTAL ILLNESS", YOUNG PEOPLE DO TOO. HERE IS A 15 YEAR OLD FEMALE'S STORY.

I hate my mother. OK, I take that back; I don't love my mother. It is her that I place most of the blame on. I believe that if she hadn't made such a mess out of her life from depression, then maybe I wouldn't have to be this way as well. She could have gotten help before I was even born. She knew she was depressed. But no, she waited until I was a happy sixth grader to let the entire world fall down onto our household. Oh, the tears, so many tears. Pills everywhere...empty silences...Dad wouldn't tell me what was wrong. I was scared. Then she finally went to the hospital. 3 weeks of treatment and she was "all better." Didn't matter. It destroyed my life. By the time I was in the eigth grade, depression had its grip on my life as well. Angry words spit from my mouth. I cried that nobody understood. Walking through my house felt like walking on knives. I begged to see a psych. I hated him. Freshman year...not too bad. Sure, I got depressed, but the episodes only lasted a week or less. I had a wonderful boyfriend, still got the same one, he was always there for me. I think he may have enjoyed being a human Kleenex. And now here I am. A sophomore in highschool...3 months away from getting my license..maybe. Do they give driver's licenses to the nutty? Yes, now I'm nutty. I want to hurt someone. I want to hurt him bad. Thursday I have to talk to the same shrink I talked to last time..but only to do paperwork. Then I get to see a new doctor on Tuesday. I hope it helps. I don't know if I can go on if it doesn't. The only thing I have left to live for is revenge and my love for Curt.

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FROM shadows@capecod.net ...

~Self Love~ How hard it must be, to simply love me, for me, My mind truly open, yet, my eyes cannot see. Imagine seeing only those things, you've felt you'd done wrong, I punish myself, and somehow I just don't belong. Depression, for me, is a vast lonely place, filled with things I fear most, Poor judgments, perhaps, and a lot of "old ghosts". I begin to question my feelings, of what's wrong and who's right, For the moment I awaken, to well into each night. Its a "curtain", of sorts, that I've placed before me, Blocking out all of my feelings, of things I can't see. Yet, by turning away, from the ones I love most, I'm left by myself, and those same "ugly old ghosts!" I must always remember, He loves me, for me, If not through my eyes, yet, through the goodness He sees. Richard William Rudow Copyright (c) March 1997 Comments, feedback appreciated, please....

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A Limerick from Scott..

TITLE: STAR EATS DUST

LAST NIGHT I EAT SPAGHETTI THAT CONTAINED
GRAPE JUICE IMPORTED FROM PLANET MARS.
IN REALITY,EACH GRAPE LOOKS LIKE AN EYE BALL
WITH A PIECE OF GLASS IN IT.MY SPAGHETTI IS
LOADED WITH WORM JUICE AND ASTEROID FEATHERS!

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