And here I am, in a room with a stranger

All I could sense was: Danger, danger!

One strange sentence…

One strange word…

And I’ll be in the “crazy” herd.

 

Oh, who am I, but a human

With feelings, thoughts, and hope…

And yet, they say

That I cannot cope.

 

And so it began, the Doc pulls

The ink blots, one by one,

Upon my eyes, I saw the strangeness…

Oh, this won’t be fun.

 

The ink became a soldier,

shooting its black stain upon my hands.

I stare at the man, he eyes my eyes.

I glance at my black fingertips.

 

What do you see?

Said the Ph.D.

I see: a rainbow flushed world,

Entering the bland room in craziness

 

Am I crazy? The Black soldier says:

Don’t fight this war.

The doctor eyes my head,

Envisioning my thoughts; what for?

 

This ink blot sets chains.

They don’t unlock, not just yet.

The man says: What do you see now?

Holding the empty card, but how?

 

The card reflects my un-relaxed brow,

My fixed pupils, my frown.

Silence in this room, no answer.

The card is put down, He thinks: there must be something “wrong” with her.

 

Shaking of the hands signals the final departure,

For I am not a captive, not in that room,

But still held chained in the inpatient grave

May I ever live again? Written on the forehead: “please save”

 

A true experience upon entering an inpatient unit where I was tested with the Rorschach ink blot test. It is not a weakness to have a mental illness, rather, it is something that builds strength to endure the most difficult of challenges in life. I am too polarized, maybe for my own good, but I will forever be charged to do greatness.

 

Peace & Love,

Dana Barakat