front page of zine: a white page covered in hearts, with the title, "a love letter to the mad"
second page: dedicated to those who never left
page three: as systems bind us, tether us, chemically restrain us, still, you are there with me. we grip hands and try not to listen to the screams
page four: we steal packets of saltine crackers from the dining hall, filling our pockets with crinkles and a tiny semblance of control. we hide the crackers in our balled up socks or between the folds of our CBT binder. if you're lucky, you have a stash of peanut butter to dip your saltines in. if you're lucky, you aren't sent to the state hospital. if you're lucky, you get to go home. if you're lucky
page five: some would pathologize it, continue to use psychiatry's weapons against us. they'd say it's codependence or trauma bonding. it's been twelve years. I still Google your name plus 'obituary' I don't know if you're still alive
page six: wearing paper scrubs feels like being naked. it's cold. without your warmth I might not have made it.
page seven: still, you are there. holding me as I shake and sweat. you in your paper scrubs as naked as I , as hurt, as broken. your arms around my shoulders. we are kin.
page eight: I wish we were never here. I'm glad we were here together
a love letter to the mad. a zine by me. #madliberation #madpride #psychiatricsurvivor