This is a poem written by a mentally ill person...
|"PAL 3" was written on the side
Of the white granary-shaped pill,
One that had two laser-drilled orifices
To allow the medicine to be pushed out.
PAL 3 meant paliperidone, 3mg of it
In my system with a half-life of 23 hours
To be taken every 24 hours with liquid
So that the pillow inside will expand.
It works well to organize my thoughts,
To make me stable again, without suicide
And able to reason and make decisions -
What a great antipsychotic medicine...
My psychiatrist prescribed it for me,
But I did not want to take it,
Afraid it would make me fatter again
With no regard for my mental health.
When I am crazy, I believe I am the only
Sane person in a world of crazy people -
They are all crazy, but I am not,
And they are not to be trusted.
I believe that no one is there to help,
But only to harm me and to kill me
In innocent-seeming ways as not to murder -
So I am stubborn and hostile toward them.
Then, when I am better again,
I realize what I have done, the hurt
I have caused and I apologize again...
Screw-up and apology seem to be my MO.
I am intelligent, though, and I have learned
To recognize some of these patterns,
Not to distrust certain people, but to follow orders
When they are given, even in haste or anger.
Mentally ill people are not dumb or stupid,
Nor are they trying to embarrass or humiliate,
Instead simply attempting to control symptoms
That would make anyone crazy - anyone.