inhuman - Jillian Thomas
CONTENT WARNING: suicide, self harm, police, and psychiatric facilities
guns. blue. the smell of tears.
i sit on my staircase choking on my own words and
staring into the vacant eyes of a policeman while my mother
explains that i had been sick for a long time- how is she so calm?
the man swears he is here to help but i know i am
just paying his bills and
he is unmoved by my pleas for privacy-
when you threaten overdose it seems you
lose your dignity instead of your life-
what a shame.
“either we bring a team here or you go to the hospital”
i will not let them poison my walls with their questions so
off to the ER i go-
i can see them trailing us as if they’re afraid i’ll run us off the road-
a desperate attempt to fulfill my destiny.
no one was supposed to find out anyways-
i did my best to keep my cries for help masked
in asterisks and sarcasm and silence but in the end
it pushed through my smile until my teeth were replaced with sounding alarms
every word i spoke another step towards the stars and
when i am almost there all of a sudden the policemen
are knocking down my goddamn door.
this is all their fault i am just a broken girl and
they play with my pieces and pretend they’re trying to put them back together-
they don’t care what goes where they just don’t want my corners to be splattered
on their record.
i sit and i get my vitals taken and watch my mother grow wrinkles
right before my eyes every time she looks at me- broken and bruised yet
still too healthy for my own liking.
i am stripped of my clothes and my phone by a condescending nurse
whose name i don’t care enough to remember- do they think i am an infant?
and all of a sudden this is Real and i wish more than ever that
my heart was slowing down instead of pumping overtime
and then i am screaming and
everyone is up and surrounding me and i cannot even fight them
for fear of being bare and naked in front of my enemies
i am out of control i am ripping my vocal cords at their roots:
a vain attempt to manipulate my way back into my own bed but
it does not work- my mother isn’t my mother anymore she works for Them and
she is deaf to my convictions
and then ativan is in my mouth and i am long, long gone.
i curse them for twisting me between medication to pacify me-
you can’t medicate me with the will to live- stupid, stupid people.
doctor after doctor picks me apart- dissecting my desecration until they
are satisfied: “i was really overwhelmed with life and didn’t want to live anymore”.
i am no longer human to them i am another vessel for lexapro and prozac and abilify
and then one of them tells me i won’t have friends if i am dead and i almost want to
thank her for jolting me so hard i can almost feel my fingertips.
72 hours and 6 uneaten meals and 100 lies later they are loading me in an ambulance and
sending me off and
i will learn how to play the game if i want to get out unscathed and
i swear i will never forgive whoever gave me up.
Jillian Thomas is a 17 year old poet living in Southeastern Pennsylvania. She began writing poetry in 2020, and has since been recognized in the Weight, Ice Lolly Review, and Levitate, among other publications. In her free time, Jillian listens to Taylor Swift, hangs out with her cat, and competes in speech and debate.
