Wednesday Poem: "From A to Z"

Thinking about the hospital

I usually reserve Wednesday Poems for paid subscribers, but the content of this one is particularly important to me, and I want as many eyes as possible to see it. Thank you in advance for reading and watching.

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FROM A TO Z (content warnings: struggles with mental illness; references to suicide and suicidal ideation; psychiatric hospitalization)

I hear the echoes of the top-floor hospital visit:¹

The gravity of exhaustion makes annual visits. 

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Each surface that your fingers brush is wipe-clean-sterilized.²

The chair: you’d never know anyone else had sat on it. 

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In present day, a black-and-white cat lounges on my couch:

A measured, patient, understanding, fluffy-haired witness. 

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A nurse listens to my story: her fatigued eyes well up.

I shift uncomfortably: thin paper crinkles where I sit.³

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A bottle of anti-anxiety meds in my desk:

So grateful that I am not often called to open it. 

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I’m offered sedatives upon arrival, late at night.

“We’ve got it all, from A to Z: what can I get you, kid?”⁴

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I keep my body clean, treat it with care, love, and respect:

I act like I’m in charge of myself, like I am a gift. 

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Shower head fits into the wall, just so:⁵ cannot be grabbed

By hands, attached to bodies, led by minds lost in the drift.

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Warm water, for as long as I wish, raining straight on down,

Running over my grateful, aging face as I wash it. 

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Notice how the door handle is a slim, curving channel

Emerging only far enough to fit one’s fingertips.⁶

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The nurses check on us in intervals they customize:⁷

I got used to a set of eyes every fifteen minutes.

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The hospital is close to where I live,⁸ and I’m grateful,

But my wish is that I never have to return to it.⁹

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Don’t look for my file under the name Lizzy: it’s not there:

I chose this name, it’s not the same one that I was born with. 

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No one has ever screamed the name Lizzy Co in anger:

I much prefer to live inside the world where she exists. 

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If you are struggling, please reach out for help, even if you think you can do it alone. There is no gold medal for suffering in silence. In the United States, 988 is there for you.

You do not need to get to the point where you end up in the hospital like I did to receive help. You are a whole, lovable, worthy human, just by virtue of existing, and you deserve to feel some comfort and ease in your days.

Want to help? My fundraiser for the AFSP is still open through the end of the year.

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Thank you so much for reading my work. It’s wonderful to have you here.

See you next week.¹⁰

1. The psychiatric patients are usually housed on the topmost level of hospitals.

2. A striking feature, once it catches the eye: there are no soft surfaces, aside from the plastic pillows.

3. I spent about twelve hours in the emergency department waiting for them to find me a bed in a psychiatric facility. I was lucky: some folks spend days in limbo, not allowed to leave for their own safety, but with nowhere else to go. It’s sort of like The Terminal.

4. I’m paraphrasing, but not by much. He would have given me anything I named.

5. Shower heads are special on the psych floor: they’re set super close to the wall to prevent patients from injuring themselves, and the result is a shower taken nose-to-nose with the wall.

6. These are colloquially called “suicide doors,” and, like the shower heads, they exist to prevent patients from harming themselves.

7. At fifteen minutes between checks, I was considered low-risk. Others had five-minute checks, and 1:1 supervision at all times occurred in the most extreme cases.

8. Relatively speaking: I was about an hour from home, and that was the closest they could find me a bed, even though I live in metro Boston where there are many hospitals with psychiatric facilities.

9. It’s good that care like I needed exists, but goddamn, is everyday life at home better.

10. This statement is a promise to myself, as well as to all of you.