After reading Emilie Autumn’s semi-autobiography The Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls which by the way I highly recommend although it is not easy to get hold of a copy. I thought I would post this poem which I wrote back in 2009 because it strongly relates to a poignant point Emilie makes. For those of you who have a copy of the book then the page that I am particularly referring to is 220. I hope you enjoy the poem.
Psychology: If it’s so popular they why the stigma?
Mental Illness affects one in four people: Fact
You demonised me into being victim
Like I chose that- are you sick?
Just because the fromage I wouldn’t lick
And wanted to resemble a stick
Or to be violently sick
Left alone to be depressed
Though I had nothing to confess
Suicidal thoughts I caressed
All these years attempting to express how I feel
Shut down and shut up every time, by you
I would have told you till I was blue
In face if I thought you’d have listened
People, unlike you did listen
And act, support, didn’t “shut up”
I talked freely, drinking coffee,
With bars, on the window
I owe them my life.
The ability to laugh and not care
What anyone else may think
To be drunk and to be aware,
Emotion doesn’t mean, you need to see a shrink
It means you are alive, and living,
Interacting with everything around you
A slave, subjected to emotion
A victim of expression
Terrified of my reflection
Surrounded by oppression
I was sick.
All negative blood tests
That is always best.
Can’t see anything wrong
Just “come back if symptoms persist”.
Was ten years too long?
Were you waiting for rig-amortise?
In body, physically a child
In mind, psychologically a child
Listen to Blake as he whispers, Innocence
Epitomising youth in his assonance
Dry cries for help
Invaded 1999 to 2009
All without tears
Just pure anger and fears
I owe you my existence
My life belongs to me
Sick of submission
And a victim of emotion
Jenna Grabey © 2009
The image above is taken from the book. I do not own any rights over it only what is written above.