Although our stories have an incredible amount of variety, we are united by the harms we’ve experienced in the psychiatric system. The psychiatric system needs to be held accountable for the violence and coercion we survived. Read our stories to understand our rage, mourn with us, and celebrate our resistance.
planning, unplanning
thinking lately of how much my therapy must cost. whether my neighbors can hear me when i forget to close the window.
Tiny Little Cell
I was in a tiny little cell for a week while waiting for a psych hold. It was just me in this white room with a hospital bed, a toilet that was basically a chamber pot, and a window that had no curtains. If I needed to go to the bathroom, I'd have to use the toilet in full view of everyone.
The World is Paused for Me
There’s just so much time here. Time is currency and it ebbs and flows. Sometimes five minutes is a lifetime because there are only so many things we can do and hear before we go mad. And sometimes an hour is too fast to do anything at all-I understood what he meant about the clocks in One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest now. But time does flow. I think the hallway is where time moves and sitting still is where it stops. When I open my door, I let some of the time bleed through.
Someday We Will Burn Down the Psych Ward
Some day I will burn that cop car + walk hand in hands with my comrades to the nearest psych ward, demolishing solitary confinement first and throwing the restraints into the fire, and we won’t stop until all that is left is us and our Madness--beautiful, terrible, furiously and unmistakably ours.