I told my doctor how when I get really upset I see clouds.
I told her that it looks like someone chain-smoked a whole pack of cigarettes in the time it took me to blink.
She told me she can't explain it.
She told me I need glasses.
I told her I need new medication, that these ones aren't working anymore.
She told me that I'm not letting them.

She told me that depression comes in waves.
And if I stop fighting them, they'll come and go with ease.  
She told me to build a raft.
I told her I don't know how.

I don't know how to tell her that I'm drowning.  
I don't know how to tell her that these "waves" have turned into rip tides and now I'm so far out that I'm lost at sea.  

Excuse me miss, but how do you build a raft when you're never on shore?

She told me I need to start exercising; I guess water aerobics aren't enough.
I told her that I can't breathe.
She told me I might have asthma.
I told her water must have filled my lungs.

I told her that I used to identify as the calm before the storm.
But now I'm a category 5 hurricane.
I told her I've got winds up to 250 mph.
But I still can't find air.

And I'm sorry, Miss Meteorologist, but land won't slow me down.

I told her that I have and will destroy everything in my path.
She told me that now that I've hit land, I can pick up the debris and build a raft.
I told her I'd try.

She told me hello and asked how my raft is coming along.
I told her that my craftsmanship is sub-par.
I told her that the clouds were back.
I told her that she's the reason I can't look at water without it running down my face.