He was demonstrating how he was going to give me the needle. Told me to look at my right upper arm. He squeezed and moved my muscle. Pinching. Toying. His hands were strong. It felt like he was ripping my muscle away from my bone.  I told him to stop his presentation. It was too much. He continued, described how the needle would go in. How the point of the needle was on an angle. It hurt, his grabbing my flesh.  He came from the criminally insane floor.

He turned to the counter to get the needle ready. One vial goes in the other vial. He was shaking it for a few minutes to mix it up. My tongue was dry. My stomach was hallow. My face felt cold, numb.

He turned with the needle. I looked away. Stared at the wall. He squeezed my arm.  It felt like he hit my bone.

“I’m fine Jim, thank you”.

What do you say? If you complain you get worse. When you’re that scared, when the situation is that unjust, your claws emerge deep down inside.

I took the subway home. I feel safe down there. On the other side. Below ground.  It’s filled with mostly kind people and gentle smiles. Reading their book. Laughing with friends. Trying to control their kids. Playing with their phone. The rattle and hum of the train. The sound of the subway voice, it’s always the same. It’s safe time. Time to yourself.

I found the gum in my scarf when I got home. It was an employee, in the elevator, in the hospital.

The months drifted by. I would just start to feel better at week three. Another shot in four.  I had a studio at the MOCA, it was juried and hard to get, it made me so happy. I wasn't making my best work. No one would say much. They where nice. They just didn’t know. What do you say? Have a good day? I would go at 12am and paint. Watch the sunrise.

Sometimes I’d see a friend. I tried to keep it fun. I tried to get the plastic furniture and objects out of my apartment.  It was going on for years. Is this how I wanted to spend my life? Would I ever fall in love? Have enough to give to someone else? Would anything ever be tender again? I wasn’t allowed to say no, it was their authority over mine.

I sewed all my own cotton clothes.  Winter winds would blow straight through them.  My thighs red, bumpy.  I didn’t care, I could breathe.

Sometimes I would call home. They told me to take it. It was too much for them. They gave me no suggestion for a new doctor. They said they where looking. I have a 1000 page file. It’s virtually impossible to counter. I knew it. They’re older. I knew I should be caring for them. I was trying to get to a place I could. I would still get upset. Agitated. Why don’t you help me? Believe me? Why don’t you fight with me? Why do you accuse me? They believed a lie. I hated getting upset. I love them. I stopped calling.

I slept on a tatami. It’s natural fibre. The plastic mattress used to make my arms go numb. Maybe it was because of the thyroid pills. I would wake up in the middle of the night. My arms would be limp. I wouldn’t be able to move them. Frozen. It would hurt in just over a minute, when the pins and needles would come. The tatami was hard. I didn’t care. I wasn’t going limp. I could feel.

I was 24 when they called me insane. The file says I was 18. For 16 years I believed them. Then something inside me, said no more. Enough. You doctor, family, friends, community, have to entertain the possibility, that you may not know everything. That you may be wrong.

When your life and future depend on it, when having people in your life does, when your kindness does, when it’s that bad, and everything you are, your health, your claws emerge, you don’t give up, you fight like a hellion, you pray, for a happy life.

Fall 2020 Magnetic teeth from the tin doors in my apartment, combined with electricity...

You do it to yourself, because your possessed (like actually) by bad people.

Winter 2022, Alarms on my teeth, the thought police...

Cipralex does this to you, there's an "x"...

Cipralex does this to you too, I don't bleach my arm hairs either, electricity did, by accident, when I was a baby...

written with hope that we find a better way for our children

”Like a worm on a hook, I have tried in my way to be free”- Leonard Cohen.