Goodbye To Something Bad

I’m just… going to…
Uh, head out

You see,
I am not supposed
To be here any more

I have shown you
There is no place for you
In my life

And you cannot push me
It would be unfair
To either of us

I have a life somewhere else
I need to look after it
Or else it atrophies and dies
Just like ours

So,  goodbye,
We will not see each other,

— GB

What Took You

The sound of the ocean at night
You’re standing on the beach
It is perfectly black
You can feel the surf pounding
The roar consumes your senses
You start to walk towards it
Feeling for the wet sand on your toes
Now you’re in up to your knees
The waves are starting to sway you
You reach out but find no purchase
You keep moving forward
The din is all encompassing
Water on your outstretched hands
Wave after wave slaps your face
You are being over taken
Breathing your attacker into your lungs
Hoping for equilibrium
As you slip under ocean for the last time
You still have not seen what took you

— GB

My Path

When I came home from the hospital after the psychotic break, as much as I was freaked out about it, I was just as much business as usual. It was a matter of “How do I get on with my life?” I was ready and willing to jump back into the fray, as it were. I just wasn’t able. At least my job wasn’t sure I was ready to be back and they weren’t talking to me about the reasons why. That should have been a clue to me. There were clearly pieces missing, some very obvious actions that I took that were “inappropriate.” Enough to keep me from the office. Perhaps I should have been admitted to the psychiatric hospital right then and there. My psychiatrist was responsible for keeping me out. He didn’t “have rights” there and it would have greatly hampered his access to me if I had gone in and started getting the help that I really needed. The next few months were an exercise in futility. I was front row to an example of “what is the wrong way to treat your patient.” In addition to the stellar treatment I received from him he brought in a therapist to help me along. On first meeting with this therapist he told me that I “just needed to pull myself up by my bootstraps and get back in the game.” He also came over to me, sniffed, and said “you don’t smell crazy.” So, my psychiatrist didn’t make a change to my treatment only to add a therapist who, well, was a quack. Luckily, I finally found a treatment team that actually helped me. When I added the ECT team at the psych hospital I had a group of doctors and therapists that had my best interest in mind. Still, until the time I suggested and then made the decision to start ECT treatments, I didn’t think there was really anything wrong with me. I wanted, I needed to go back to work. Work was what I lived for. The fact that I had been away from it for so long was wearing on me. The fact that no one has talked about what put me into the situation still gets to me. While it makes little difference now, I would at least like to know what I did to cause my company to keep me away. I have gotten on with my life, I’d like to have that piece of information so I can put this part behind me. I am still business as usual, only the business has changed. I just try to do whatever is best for me. Whatever makes me better.


those episodes,
fraught with disaster
were surprises
to me,
to everyone

I ran into them
and they captured me
pulling me into
no one would
willingly endure

thrashed and bruised
in a hospital bed,
confusion mixed
with a strong sense
of dread,
knowing that what
was bad had ended,
along with what was good

— GB