The Poet
A gasp
An unacknowledged plea for help
How can I help you?
A clean, competent midwife
All pale and starched
‘The voices,’ the poet cried
‘The voices are pursuing me
“The Voices of the emerald lake’
‘It’s all a myth,’ the midwife said
‘It’s all inside your head.’
She touches her. Her hand is cold.
And the baby
As soon as it is born
It is torn from the arms of its mother
They sedate her and she surrenders
To black waters, void
The rusted mouth of the plug hole
Sucks her in, drags her down
And the fingers of darkness
Reach out to her
Pulling her towards the edge
There is lightness down here, they said.
The mother watches the midwife turn away
She had spotted some another irresistible
Sumptuous feast. A mouthful to savour
And the mother of all poetry
Is momentarily obscured
I see you are exposed
Naked, deposed
You once ruled over
Isolated islands
A contented populace
Each knew their place
Undisturbed, unrivaled
Ennobled, exalted
Until your subjects revolted
Heaven-sent but earth bound
Firmly tethered to the ground
You drop dead without a sound
I am not sure how long I shall remain here. I have been reading about the plight of transsexuals – they are people who believe that they have been born into the wrong body. As far as I am aware it is a disorder that primarily affects men – sufferers believe that they are really women. I wonder if there are people who have been born into the wrong time.
I cannot deny that you have probably helped many. You have, however, had a hand in destroying my life and for that I hate you beyond measure. You despised me because I was born into the wrong socio-economic circumstances. You despised me because I am physically grotesque. You despised me because of factors beyond my control. You failed to act when I was sexually harassed by over-sexed male patients while being imprisoned as a result of a section 3 that you ratified. You failed to act when I was physically attacked by a male patient who had a long history of such behaviour. You failed to address the sexual abuse or domestic violence I had experienced as a child. When I was in your care I was forcibly medicated, often by male members of staff. I was told that I was worthless, an attention seeker, not really ill. I was told that nobody would really care if I committed suicide. You were slowly and systematically destroying me. My mother managed to wrest me away from you. A humble nurse triumphed over a learned psychiatrist. How that must have stung! When I graduated from college I was still under your jurisdiction. I was in the care of a CPN and a social worker. It was then that you exacted your revenge. You withdrew all support. I was left to rot in a council flat. At the time I had a friend. I will refer to her as L. She insisted on telling me how wonderful you were, how you went out of your way to help her, how much you respected her. The contrast was striking. She was pure and good and came from a middle class background. She was also, unlike me, physically attractive. Another difference was that I had managed to graduate and she didn’t – that must have infuriated you – it is a violation of the natural order of things.
There is a voice in my head – it is one of the demons. Because you, devout Catholic that you are, always knew that I was demonically possessed. I asked you to approach a priest on my behalf. You refused. So the demons they have multiplied. They are imprisoned inside. And no one will help me get rid of them. You think I deserve my suffering because, at the age of seven, I permitted a neighbour to shove his fingers up my vagina and I told no one. I should have fought him. Even if it meant my own death. You are trying to rid the planet of my evil presence. You are trying to make me commit suicide. I will do as you wish but the world will know what you have done.
The voice says: ‘Keep looking over your shoulder. Because you should never feel safe – as long as I am alive.’
So Sick of Drowning 