I am sick.
I have to keep telling myself that.
It's just a sickness that eats away at your heart,
Making you feel unworthy,
Useless,
Pointless.
And with proper treatment,
It can be lessened,
Though it will never go away.
It's just a sickness that deteriorates
Your self esteem,
Your confidence (if you had any to begin with),
And your relationships with others,
Because you sabotage all of them.
It's a sickness, right?
Because you get so tired of fighting it,
Tired of pretending to be okay,
Tired of being tired.
And dear God, you're so very tired.
And everything hurts,
And your patience is thinning,
Because you feel hopeless,
And the meds aren't working as quickly as you would have liked,
And you're still going through a harsh withdrawl from medications
The doctor told you to stop.
But there's just enough fight left in you,
Where all you want is to feel better
So you can laugh again.
So you don't make him so sad and worried.
It's a sickness, I am sure.
Because I feel so sick of it.
I hate withdrawls from anti-psychotics, I'm just a ball of tears.