They go unopened.
Left on doorsteps;
to remain unread.
Or do they tumble
into anxious hands?
To swing out their
messages to eager
eyes, fumbling fingers
reply in permanent ink
and do they fall through
the letterbox to
My words are still
written down - never
mind if you read them.
I am still in the psychiatric unit. I am allowed an hour leave a day, which allows me to go over to the main hospital and get a cup of coffee and a puzzle book. We’re allowed to receive parcels here, so I’ve ordered a pack of coloured pens and some adult colouring in books which have always seemed to unlock my creativity. I did have some coloured pencils but they are all now blunt or snapped and we’re not allowed to sharpen them.
My parcel will arrive on monday morning. I am very tired all the time, probably because there is very little do other than eat and sleep… and though we try to find stuff to do, it’s hard to find the motivation to actually do it.
I’ve been playing my violin and trying to get involved with the occupational therapy, so I’ve been keeping myself as busy as I can.
Poetry, unfortunately, is coming slow. I sat in front of a blank page today and nothing came. I couldn’t even try free-writing, i just had nothing to say. What is there to say?
Oh thank you so much! It is really sweet of you to have taken the time to message me so kindly. I hope you are well
It’s okay to say the bad stuff
to the ones you call your friends.
Is it okay, then, for them
to close you off, choose not
to listen. Is it okay, then,
for you to curl up and cry
and grieve for those who
you never owned, who
never cared, who never
once took the time
and stopped to tell you
I am feeling better this morning. It’s lonely and depressing in here, but I am doing ok. Now that I have my violin and my ipad I have been working on some poetry and a musical piece to reflect my emotional state.
I thought I should tell you a little more about myself. Vague reasons why I am in here and not at home in a comfortable bed with real bedding and all my belongings aren’t locked away.
I have schizoaffective disorder.
It causes me to hear voices, become very depressed and do things that ordinary people wouldn’t usually even consider doing.
I took 2 overdoses in 2 days. The hospital didn’t want to send me home and have it happen again, so here I am, 2 weeks on from my hospitalisation, sitting in the reception area of a psychiatric unit - Glenbourne Unit, Plymouth. It’s hard. I don’t believe that I will ever get back to that carefree emotional state that I was in before, but I could be wrong.
I just want to be consoled. Being here keeps me safe, but in a state of complete frustration. I have been taken off all my medication to see what lies beneath, and it is causing havoc. I get moments of lucidity, but most of the time I just watch the time go by and feel like everything is one long drawn out dream. My memory is patchy, I get confused between the staff here and the staff at the general hospital where I stayed a few days.
I hope this answers a few questions. Feel free to ask me questions, I am going to be more honest from now on. Perhaps then you might understand the context of some of my writings.
I have been placed in a psychiatric unit to recover. Things have been very difficult and I have only just gotten access to my ipad as well as feeling up to writing at last.
My head is very scrambled, days pass and blur into one. I hate to admit it but I am very unwell… hearing voices and feeling incredibly anxious and depressed. They have taken me off of all my medication to see what I am like underneath as it were. I am so lonely here. I have missed writing my poetry to you, but now that I have my ipad I will be able to write to you on occasion.
I hope this information doesn’t put you off.
I hope everyone is okay. xxx
I read aloud one of my favourite poems by Jen Hadfield.