the olden days II

back in the day,
we actually felt
things.

look, I’m not gonna lie,
Western medicine was
a total fucking joke
that really wasn’t
very funny.
lots of us went around
suffering horribly
from easily cured
nutritional imbalances and
hormonal issues and
serotonin deficiencies, which
we tried vainly
to correct
by voluntarily ingesting
various poisons, known as
drugs of varying stages
of legality.

sometimes I was
hideously depressed
(aka felt very sad,
hopeless, despairing)
for days on end –
let alone months
or years –
and usually couldn’t
even tell you why.

most people couldn’t
even afford – yes,
I know that word
is obsolete and
means nothing to you,
along with cost,
expensive or even
cheap – what passed
for health care,
which was like
trying to hit a nanoparticle
with a sledgehammer, anyway.
most so-called doctors
had no real clue
about what was actually
ailing us and instead
threw drugs (pretend medicine,
actually legal, for-profit
poison) at whatever symptoms
we presented them with.
we spent a lot of time
trying to help
ourselves, and
usually failing.

but it wasn’t all
a vale of tears.
I laughed
til I cried, and
cried til I laughed,
and now my well-adjusted
brain can’t do
either of those things.
and my art is much
less interesting
when I’m no longer
constantly on the brink
of madness.

was it
worth it? society
says no. I think the
artists might
beg to differ. but
the ones that died
by their own hands
because life didn’t
seem worth living
might disagree.

Published by

R. Brookes McKenzie

what fresh hell is this

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