The Hallway

The hallway was quiet as I began my walk through. Though long, I could see the door at the other end. That was my destination- my way out. I started walking at a normal pace, looking around at the wall on each side of me, both sides were painted black, which seemed like a weird hallway color. Some area had cracks of different sizes, they looked as if someone had tried to punch their way through the wall. Other areas contained scribbles, most made no sense, some initials as well, were carved in some areas.
The hallway was lit throughout with horribly bright flourescent lighting overhead- like on a hospital ward. My eyes were struggling to adjust.  But then, that became  rather moot as I hit the halfway point- When suddenly..The lights went out...all of them!
I found myself in complete darkness.
I could no longer see the door at the other end that I was trying to reach ...or the one I had entered through.
 I tried to feel my way forward...but was unable to do  so. I was standing in complete darkness...
and unable to find my way out.


-Sharon H.

SAME DAY, DIFFERENT MOODS By Kathy Powers

     When I’m depressed, I awaken in a sweat-soaked, an askew mountain of tossed pillows. Garfield paws at my hair. I smell burnt toast from the hallway and my diaper is wet. I toss and turn, try to evade arising. I  push Garfield out of the way.

     I run to the bathroom, trip over Garfield and pray that I don’t leak onto the carpet. I clean my piss, put on a fresh diaper, angle my way toward the kitchen to plop a can of Nine Lives into Garfield’s dirty bowl, I grab my pills and run back to bed. I position my C-PAP over my face, stick my head under the covers and fall asleep until Garfield again summons me.

     When I’m hypo-manic, I slowly awaken, rested and comfortable. I seek out Garfield to caress him and talk to him. I smell somebody’s fragrant coffee from down the hall. I’m aware of feeling hungry and ask Garfield if he wants some food. He talks to me as we make our way to the bathroom. While I’m on the pot, I check his litter for presents. When I’m finished, I usually scoop it and  wash my hands,

     We hurry to the kitchen and I get out a clean dish for his breakfast. I make a power smoothie and carry it around, sipping as I dress and get ready for the day. I have to hurry. I check my calendar for the day’s events, gather my paperwork and grab a Sudoku to work on the bus.

When I’m neither depressed nor hypo-manic, I awaken in a fog. I operate as a robot with no feeling or permanent memory. I assume that I feed Garfield, take my meds and go to the bathroom, etc...;  but I truly don’t remember doing anything. I feel frozen in a strange land. I can’t emote or think. I am lost. Is this what they call normal? It’s like navigating through a fog or being pumped full of neuroleptics; a blank, colorless forest of nothingness...

Loss

Loss
it tosses everything upside down
surrounded by pain
the tears pour down
no joy
no peace
no comfort....
can be founf.
My thoughts spin around
and around, as I try
to grab hold...
to plant mt feet 
on the ground.
But I spin
am tossed about
out of control...
there is no safety
there is no 'okay'
The rain of sadness and fear
covers all
And I Fall....
Fall.....deep
into 
the silent crash of loss. 

-Sharon H.

PONZI SCHEME ECSTASY by Jason Townsend

I just love you and your disheveled hair
You wear it that way cuz you just don't care
You don't live by the rules
And you think society behaves
Without a clue
You think for yourself
You Wiley fox
You play the game,
You know it well
And you live your life outside the box
You refuse to conform
It's totally you
As you rise above the norm
We're 2 of a kind
And we will live our dream
Life is about freedom
We'll bamboozle them like a Ponzi scheme.
-Jason Townsend

CONTENT TO BE… by Elizabeth Hipwell

Content to be at odds

With the straight and narrow lines of expectation

Travelling the rocky path,

Stubbing my toes along the way

Facing a waiting and hail-ridden maelstrom

Turning inside through the narrow

Claustrophobia of my harsh and endless

Self-absorbed pain

Holding tight to the apron strings

Of my fragile psyche

As I whirl like a Dervish

Chanting a prayer to the crazy comfort of the pain

That is so near and dear

It cradles and caresses my wounds with relish

Licking up the flow of hatred that resides in me

The vicious circular of doubt and hate

One day is dissipated

By a calm that settles and separates

Making the meditation of misery

Split into a vapor of consequence

To flow every which way and no more

What is left is pure and stronger for having been worn

Ready for the simplicity of peace

My recovery

Acceptance

Unhindered

Free

by Elizabeth Hipwell

GAZING AT THE CALENDAR by Jason Townsend

Time is a trauma

Keep your eyes on the clock

And it ticks away

In a way that time mocks

 

Time is a drama

Spider webs in your mind

Time's never a comma

And it keeps you in line

 

There's nothing to fear

As time marches on

At the calendar you leer

And in a moment...time's gone.

-Jason Townsend



SILENT VOICES & THE ART COLLECTIVE

Hey Everyone!

 

I hope all of you are well.

I just want to let you know that Silent Voices will be meeting on Saturdays from now on

from 11am-12pm starting May 25th.

 

 

I know things have been inconsistent lately, but this change should put things back on track.

 

 

Please pass it on.

 

Also, The Art Collective will be meeting again under the umbrella of The Drop-In Center

from 12-2pm; starting on May 25th.

 

 

I will be facilitating and the mission will be to explore and self teach ourselves different art mediums with the stress being on embracing imperfection and giving our creative voices a chance to be free.

 

 

Individual pieces will be worked on in tandem with group pieces.

 

 

NOTE:

Although I will be facilitating, this is a collective so the group will have just as much say in what we do and in what is contributed.

 

 

 

I hope you all can come!

 

Pass this information on at your discretion.

 

All of this will take place at:

 

 

C4 Broadway

5710 North Broadway

3rd Floor

Silent Voices

Saturdays from 11-12pm

 

The Art Collective

Saturdays from 12-2pm

 

 

 

Thanks,

Elizabeth Hipwell