Not Crazy

Photo by bruce mars on Unsplash

I’m not crazy, I say as I’m told I need to sit down.

I’m not crazy, I yell as the nurse pushes my back up against the wall.

I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy; I scream repeatedly.

Don’t you hear them?

I’m now on the floor with my hands and legs being held down. 
Reinforcements have come in scrubs. 
I hear them say I’m fine and that I shouldn’t be here.

Why won’t you listen to them?

I’m not crazy, I yell.

“Drew,” the nurse says quietly, “Please remember you aren’t supposed to talk to the voices.”

I hear them, I say. 
They want to know about my day, how much rain we got, and why are there locks? Why can’t we go outside? I’m not a fan of this white; why does it always have to be white? Some color would be nice. So, I’m just answering them, you see.

But here you are, thinking I’m crazy.

— Nicole Barden 1/15/2021

Originally published in Blue Insights on Medium