I could fix myself

I could fix myself.

I could go back in antidepressants.

Oh wait, I did that.

It didn’t fix me.

It simply boxed me up.

Allowed me to comply with what society wants.

I could go back in antidepressants.

To be happy.

To be free of the torment in my mind.

To be less busy in my brain.

To do what others do which is to sort it all into nice boxes.

And stuff some of those boxes far back in storage.

But there is nothing wrong with me.

And I don’t need another diagnosis for YOU to be able to make sense of me.

I’ve made sense of me.

Along time ago.

Since then I’ve lost my life trying to help YOU make sense of me.

I’ve lost my laughter, my pleasure, my joy.

And while I won’t look back on my teens, 20s or at this rate my 30s and remember how happy I was, how spontaneous I was or how much joy there was.

I don’t think that’s a life less lived.