The undiagnosed.

The pain I feel,
Living without diagnosis,
Angers me much,
Beause I can't tell those closest.

The stigma it has,
Would **** my career,
My friends would all run,
For that I do fear.

In the gutter one day,
The next I'm on Mars,
Laying in bed,
Or speeding in cars.

For I do wish too know,
What's inside my head,
Mentally ill?
Or creative instead?