Go Ask Alice

Prescription bottles

line up on the kitchen table

we arm wrestle

for control

of my identity

It doesn’t matter

that I am the one

who made the call

acknowledging my unraveling

I did not want

the mini-pharmacy currently growing in my kitchen

like potted herbs on a window sill

blue pill to make me tall

red pill to make me small

stagger under the weight of

laden words found

in the index of the DSM-V

My well- meaning shrink

in his trendy suit

thin sharp tie

shaggy Beatles hair cut

and groovy glasses

tells me it doesn’t matter

what we call my crazy

as long as the pills do the trick

He is talking treatment implications

while I am picturing strings of letters

carved into my forehead

with a dull knife

labeling my psyche

or perhaps a Viennese Sorting Hat with a cigar

declaring my diagnosis loudly

to the room of my peers

shouting that neither

the Bipolar 1s nor the Bipolar 2s

get to live in the

Gryffindor Tower

before asking me how I really feel about my father

 

Image: Floatyman, DeviantArt

© 2017 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All rights Reserved

6 thoughts on “Go Ask Alice

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