I've had bad days for as long as I can remember,
Anxiety, loneliness and depression swirling in my head.
(You might think loneliness and depression are the same but that's not true, loneliness is just a SYMPTOM of depression)
I used to have good days,
Light,
Days,
Where it didn't hurt as much,
Any more,
But these bad days come back,
And the came,
And they stayed,
For weeks at a time,
Anxiety had me mumbling,
"I'm fine"'s
(The actual act of being 'fine' is something I've never had the privilege of experiencing)
I got so many bad days,
My therapist,
(Along with my mother)
Tried to convince me they weren't,
ALL bad.
So,
I'm depressed, turned into:
The weather,
And, I'm alone,
Turned into:
Call your friends!
And,
I'm suicidal,
Turned into:
Philosophical.
I don't think you understand...
That this plan,
Of telling me my feelings aren't real,
Or that I shouldn't feel what I feel when I'm feeling it.
Isn't helping me,
Or saving me.
Because I remember being 12,
In an emergency room,
With death on my mind,
And burns on my wrist,
Being told,
I couldn't be admitted to a mental ward,
Because they only accept 13 year olds,
That, the qualifications,
Where there,
That I wanted to die,
But You were,
Just to young,
To be feeling,
What you were feeling,
When you were feeling it.
You shouldn't,
Be feeling what your feeling,
When your feeling it.