Friday, March 29, 2013


Guts to the ground,
Heart in the sky,
Sun singing,
Earth crumbling...
Nothing to cling to,
But the dichotomy before this
Sunday's sermon ringing freshly in her ears
Matched against the allure of dishwater blonde hair...
Push it inside!
And golden-green eyes...
Push it deep inside
Your mind!

Where good girls guard themselves from temptation
With fire and brimstone wedged between their knees,
As the stench of hormones lingers awkwardly in the air.
Ssshh!! Don’t speak about it!!
The thought itself is sin!

A muscular arm tossing a ball,
Short, curly hair to run fingers through,
Full lips and tongues entangled...
She slaps her hand hard to stop the thoughts from overtaking her,
To escape to a place where butterflies no longer roam freely in her stomach
Whenever she thinks of this first childhood crush.
She kneels beside her bed
And dutifully repeats her nightly prayer-
Grasping for something that might release her from the grotesque feeling of being pulled in two.
And with an aching heart she cries,
Dear God, I’ll do anything. Please take away these feelings. Please don’t let me be gay.

For those children and teenagers who’ve prayed endless prayers and cried an abundance of teardrops…
God loves you, just the way you are! by Tracy Medberry Copyright 2013

Saturday, March 2, 2013

One Nation Under Pharma

Fidgety digits twisting a worn-labeled bottle between winter-cracked skin.
The first meal of the day I usually sang every morning.
But, today, nothing fills my stomach, as I stare contemplatively at an empty bottle.
I hate everything for which they stand:
A prisoner among an egregious amalgamation of chemicals.
One more guinea pig trapped in a spinning hamster wheel of politics,
Where the rich pigs, fatten their bellies,
And the poor simply get hooked...
On the next best gimmick.
Snake oil, wrapped in pretty, petty, sound bites
Where emotionally solicitous poppy fields dance across my flat screen.
The scant trace - a tiny warning of side effects,
A blur, amidst the promise land awaiting you.

"The hook brings you back," the old Blues Traveler song, teases me into the present,
Along with nausea and electric shocks invading my skull,
Reprimanding me for missing last night's dose;
Only one phone call away to some sense of normalcy.   

The concept of normalcy alludes and taunts me in the same breath.

Normalcy- where symptoms are hidden behind a Venetian blind 
That opens to a myriad of side effects -
The root of the problem seldom removed, at best, subdued. 

Doctors turning tricks for drug companies, 
Naively believing, as did we, in the panacea that was promised-
That a miracle could be found in one tiny pill..
Or three...
Or four...
Or fourteen.
If not, and the bag of tricks runs dry,
"Perhaps it's in your head and you should try the psychiatrist down the street.
I heard he has a wonder drug that should help
With that new mental problem I've now added to your chart."

"The hook brings you back." Blues Traveler returns to my brain.
Perhaps a wise mystic, cautioning me.
Unbearable pain, nausea, and brain zaps are on the opposite side of that meager argument
 Persuading me otherwise;
And I'm not ready for the hell of  "discontinuation syndrome",  today.
I hold the empty bottle in my hand and reach for the phone.
I assuage the deep feeling of defeat and enslavement with one thought:
"They must not be that bad for me. My doctor took an oath":
 Do no harm.

My personal journey. Not intended for medical advice. Copyright 2013