purgatory
dilapidated walls peeling
and linoleum floors
and styrofoam food containers with flavorless mashed potatoes
you are placed here in order to exist
in a vacuum where time moves slowly
or sometimes not at all
and there is no connection with the outside
so you can stew over your thoughts over
and over and over
and over and over
and over again
and hope that the thinking might fix you
because nothing else exists here that will
purgatory is
your eyes swimming before the sheet of paper that says
PETITION FOR INVOLUNTARY COMMITMENT
handed to you by an underpaid aide
that would rather you take a nap or color a mandala
than make them write a note about you in your chart that says something like
”Pt is agitated
Pt confronted staff member about wanting to leave
Pt denied PRN Ativan and told me to go fuck myself.”
purgatory is
gripping the plastic receiver of a payphone
on a cord that is way too short
hearing the gravely voice of your partner
describing his day in detail
while you hang on to every word
trying to escape from where you are
to places like the gas station or the bank
that seem so mundane normally
but are so far away and novel to you now
that you crave them
purgatory is
parting your hair with your fingernail
in the reflection of the window
because the mirror in your room
has been ripped out
trying to work your way through the tangles
trying to avoid a “disheveled” note on your chart
trying to avoid having to stay a moment longer
purgatory is
the doctor smiling at you and finally telling you your discharge date
as you return to your room with anxious excitement
praying to god it isn’t taken away from you
but purgatory is also leaving
and going home
and realizing you spent so much time there trying to survive
that you didn’t even get to heal
and getting the 20,000 dollar bill in the mail
and feeling like you have been punished
for asking for help.