Treasure Island

A.j. Binash

(04-20-1988 / Dodgeville WI)

In All Honesty


The nurse led me from the waiting room
Into a neutral white room
She instructed me to sit
I did as told

A timid breeze blew in through the open window
It tickled my facial hair
And made the nurse's cowlick dance

'What seems to be the problem? '

I cleared my throat and crossed my legs

'I want to blow my fucking brains out'
'Why? '

Another breeze flowed
This one more forceful
Some papers on her desk caught the force
They fell in a gentle seesaw to the ground

'Good question'

I was admitted for 48hour observation.

Their first helpful idea
Was to give me drugs
One Xanax
That didn't even get me high
And a sleeping pill
That had side effects which included painful erections

I awoke the next morning to a nurse checking my vitals
My face flushed while I looked down at my boner

'Everything looks normal-better get up or you'll miss breakfast.'
I sat up and leaned over till I could cross my arms over my lap
'B...B...Be right there'

I sat next to a pale faced skeleton
She was an anorexic with extreme anxiety towards eating
This explains why she took the muffin off her tray
And placed it onto mine
While reciting
'If you tell anyone about this I will fucking kill you'

I ate the muffin in silence

The rest of my day consisted of group therapy sessions

Their idea of therapy was to give me several worksheets
With various scenarios described
I was then instructed to describe my feelings
Towards each scenario

I just flipped the papers over to the blank side
And wrote a short manuscript of poetry

My last morning there
I met with a therapist
A bland fellow
With a receding hairline and Santa Clause-esque gut
He brought no presents

'We are releasing you today'
'Oh yeah' I said with a smirk 'why is that? '
'Because you're healthy enough'
I coughed into the open air
'But I still want to blow my fucking brains out'
He clicked his pen and scribbled gibberish in his notebook
'Don't worry we'll get you help on the outside'
I knew it was because I had no health insurance
I just wanted to hear him say it

Upon my release
They gave me back my shoe laces and belt
I was taken down a long grey hallway
Paintings of sailboats
Beaches
And other cliché art were hung on the walls
What they had to do with a hospital
I still contemplate to this day

I walked out the front doors a free man
Into the July sun
A fly began to circle my head
Buzzing in my ear with each 360
Annoyed
I grabbed the fly from the air
And enclosed my fist around it
Blood decorated the inside of my palm
I wiped in onto my jeans
'Lucky bastard'
I thought while lighting a cigarette

Submitted: Sunday, December 23, 2012
Edited: Sunday, December 23, 2012

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Comments about this poem (In All Honesty by A.j. Binash )

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  • Jac Harper (12/26/2012 2:35:00 AM)

    This is a great expression of a degrading (for me at least) experience. The public mental health system does not exist. You've nailed it! (Report) Reply

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