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A poem on experience of ECT from Colin Hambrook

The drawing wasn't made for the poem, but the mood of the drawing sums up some of the suppressed rage in this poem. There is a central figure in battle with demons and strange fizzing machines rising above him. So many of my drawings express different aspects of psychosis...

In many ways my life has been shaped by the moment the psychiatrist took me into my bedroom, aged ten, and subtly demanded to know all the 'mad' things my mum had been saying, on a promise he would make her better.

He took her away and gave her so much ECT she couldn't remember her children when we came to see her in hospital.




Burning
Held fast in the youth chair;
vacant, rebellious,
you are a broken cup
that smashes
a little more
every time
I try
to pick you up.

Your expression
burns my skin
reminding me of
that recurring dream
haunting early childhood
memory;
a black and white
movie picture of mum
melting;
the smell of burning
rubber,
waking me
night on night
till, finally…

They burnt her temple
lobes with their 'all
for the best' ethos
that's fucked us
generation after
fucking generation!

Link: http://www.disabilityartsonline.org/?location_id=176&item=675&result=success

Date posted: Wednesday, 14 July 2010