By Traci Mullins
They catch me in a net. Lock me in a cage.
Sleep, the nurses tell me. You must come down if you want out.
But an asylum can’t contain me. My world is a kaleidoscope; my plumage, neon yellow. My wings stream bold vermillion; my voice, liquid gold.
Swallow, they say, and every four hours, I do. Their antidote is bitter; my throat is choked with burrs. The sun becomes the moon, and I cannot catch the stars.
You’re well, they say.
I’m numb. I’m pale.
I try to fly, but my wings are clipped. My song sputters out at gray.
Brilliant. Evocative. Well-written and sad. The blandness of sanity
Thank you!
Awesome!
Thank you!
Sheer brilliance.
(And rings true. I had a bipolar artist patient who refused treatment because he couldn’t bear to lose the gloriously imaginative and productive portion of his cycle.)
Thanks so much, Liz!
Terrific, Traci.
Thanks, Paul!
So sad, but brilliantly done.
Thank you, Joyce!
Beautiful and sad.
You are amazing. Brilliant description for those of us who didn’t know. Your last line…
Great imagery… I can feel the sadness… kudos…
Thank you!
Nice work, Traci!
Gorgeous…tragic.
Wow this is lovely. The third paragraph especially was beautifully written and it was great to do this from the perspective of the patient.