Sectioned For Singing

 

I’d just like to talk about how I was treated by the authorities shortly before this time last year. It started when I was released from hospital after a 28 Day assessment. As is expected, I was ecstatic to be free again and I roamed around several towns sleeping rough and drinking with my detective cap on. When I returned home I had a BBQ out front on the patio because at that time my home still had no electric. If you can recall, they sectioned me for that month for lighting gas canisters, lol. I was the victim of a flood, that was all. So, I’m getting into my lovely cooking which I’d been looking forward to all month when six coppers turn up and put it out on me. They said they were acting on a warrant for my arrest and that was all they knew. I told them it must be because I didn’t get a tag fitted when I was supposed to (I still never got that tag). The guy stood on a sachet of mayonnaise like he was controlling the area, like it was a bag of coca and he was seizing it. I still can’t quite understand why he appropriated my condiments. He was the thickest human being I have ever come across.

Anyway, there goes my dinner and my only-just-realised freedom. It’s just a warrant, I think, they’ll give me my tag and I’ll be out of there. The solitude of them cells make you a bit cuckoo so I practise some spoken word poetry to keep me occupied. Little do I know that with my history singing to yourself is deemed mental so low and behold I get sectioned again, yes for singing! Another three months down the swanny from that moment.

As if that wasn’t enough I lie down on the floor to feel a bit sad that I’d just been sectioned and to take it all in when a busy comes in and blasts me full in the face with pepper spray, from a lying down position! Now what is the need for that!? I protest. This is all after a humiliating strip search when I acted all limp and deadweight to make it go a bit easier for me. My shorts are falling down and I’m at risk of my nakedness being exposed. I’m transported to hospital yet again and kicked into isolation, or what I call the ‘pressure cooker’. It’s a small tank usually reserved for violent patients. I believe the authorities were trying to extract my spirits from me, as I could hear a doctor asking if I could feel them leaving me yet? I saw some strange things, blinded, in that pressure cooker, including a bear and a swimming pool, and they might have been right, my spirits did come out, but only to protect me, not to go away. Weird, eh?