Proud

  I've seen my mother cry twice-once when my dog died, and once when I tried to.

  "Why would you do this? I give you such a good life! I try so hard.." her voice cracked, followed by my heart. "Stay awake. Stay awake. Stay awake. I need you to stay awake. For the love of God, just stay awake!"

  The emergency room is eerily quiet at one in the morning, yet I could barely hear the nice front desk lady asking me to confirm the information on my bracelet. My mom shrieked that it was correct, and I needed a wheelchair then and there.

  After coughing up what seemed like my guts, I was able to hear better, and I was the star of the show.

  "Why would you do this? What happened? What did you take? How many? Can you tell me your name and birthday? Can you tell me what happened?"

  Dizziness. Hallucinations. Oh god, I'm gonna throw up.

  "Can you wake up? Drink more of this. Can you tell me your name and birthday? Can you hear me? We're going to get to the bottom of this. Can your father come see you? Why not? Is she asleep? Do you know what happened? Ex. Abuse. Harassment. Father, crazy, gun. Cutting herself-I thought it stopped! She just needs to like herself!" Why are you talking about me like I'm not right here? "Treatment hospital. She's definitely going somewhere. I can't babysit her. Danger to herself. Can you hear me? Can you tell me your name and birthday? Can you hear me? Can you drink more? Can you eat something? Can you tell me what your father did?"

  Oh god, I can't breathe. Everything is black. Black. Dizzy.

  "Medically cleared. Mental health facility. I'm doing this to help you. What are you in for? Can I see your scars? Talk about it, talk about it, talk about it. You need to talk about it. Time to take your medication. We're here to help you. Talk about it. Eat, sleep, breathe, medication. I'm so proud of you."

  Funny how you're only proud of me after I cough up a bottle of pills.

This poem is about: 
Me
Guide that inspired this poem: 

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