When told I had psychosis,

the first thing I did was ask what it is:

I thought maybe a coma,

where you can still think and act,

and why being thrown into a cell with glass walls

would fix that.

I thought of something out of Psycho,

and the fact that I needed four wardsmen

to dress me, although I screamed blue murder,

and the nurses rushed to inject me

with...anti-psychosis.

More-complex theories emerged upon consultation

where, it was suggested, the two halves of my brain

could not communicate with each other,

if in fact it could be proven that I had a brain at all.

Being convivial at times when it was appropriate to be serious

showed—not a lewdness or higher, more-positive intellect—

but rather a distraction, which untreated

would result in all forms of public misdemeanour.

“Psychosis” was defined in the 1840s

when it was thought peculiar to be unable to confide

one’s feelings to one’s fellow man.

When asked a simple question, such as

“What day of the week is it?”

answering factually would prove, at least, being attentive,

and assumed the social skills not to make a huge JOKE out of it.

​

​Marcus Ten Low