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=   F.U.C.K. - Fucked Up College Kids - Born Jan. 24th, 1993 - F.U.C.K.   =
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				[ X ]
                                -----

		"get out of the garbage can, this is
		psychodrama, dammit! you are supposed
		to use this for healing!"

		i sat limply inside of a garbage can,
		forty hands pushing on my shoulders.
		i felt trapped, and i suddenly
		remembered other hands that held me
		down. tears sprang unbidden to my
		eyes. i did not want to rise. it was
		too easy, too comfortable to be here,
		held down, not in charge of my own
		destiny. the disease, i could blame
		it on the disease.

		day in day out. i took my meds like a
		good little psych patient, joked
		with the mental health workers,
		dutifully signed out my sharps. i did
		my homework in the allotted hour and
		snuck cigarettes in the bathroom. i
		only got caught once. my disease was a
		weight on my shoulders that i ignored.

		i sat in group and smiled while digging
		my fingernails into my hands. i wrote
		incessantly about blood. people watched
		me take a piss. there was no privacy.
		there was no touching. no human contact,
		no love. there was nothing but group and
		meals and the pure outpouring of raw
		emotion from 7 a.m. until 10 p.m. Blood
		was drawn, weight was written down,
		i went to therapy three times a week.

		pure monotony.

		but i learned some things. i learned that
		modern psychiatry is bullshit, and that
		mental hospitals are crap. nothing good
		comes out of it.. they put you in your
		own little world, a world that is NOT
		a microcosm of the real world, but rather
		a simulated, comfortable surreality that
		doesn't do shit to help you. they scar
		you.

		funny how it will grab me. i was walking
		down the street, and i saw a couple
		holding hands. i was filled with a sense
		of wrong, and a thought flashed through
		my mind.

		no pc allowed.

		i had to shake my head, remind myself that
		in the real world, people are allowed to
		touch each other.

		funny, treatment takes almost as long as
		it takes for your insurance to run out.
		greedy bastards... they fuck kids up for
		money, and they don't even help them.
		parents don't know this, but the kids who
		have no privacy and are treated like animals
		do.

		so i sit here and write, and i am doing
		a thousand things that i would not be allowed
		to do in a psych ward. i ask, why? why
		couldn't i smoke? drink coffee? watch a
		movie that has violence in it? swear?
		these things happen in the real world,
		and nothing they do in this places
		helps you deal with it, much less the
		things that threw you in there. how can
		i deal with being beaten by my lover if
		i am not allowed to see a violent movie
		because it might hurt my tender money
		producing sensibilities?


		demonika

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