Once I had a dream, I awoke in a
Hospital bed with my family and friends all around me.
My wrists were bound in bandages
And they all wept
“Why? Why would he do it?”
“But I did not.” He ripped off the bandages to reveal bare wrists.
“See, I did not do it.”
But they continued to weep.
“Look, I have no scars, it was not me.”
“He had been beautiful, why could he not see?”
But I could not see the scars
For they were in me.
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Mad in America hosts blogs by a diverse group of writers. These posts are designed to serve as a public forum for a discussion—broadly speaking—of psychiatry and its treatments. The opinions expressed are the writers’ own.
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