I'm paid to paste this smile on my face
Though it's rarely ever there
Because money doesn't motivate the clinically depressed
As much as we all would like it to

No, I won't make it easy on you
It sure is hell isn't easy on me
Driving through town with my music loud
And a pain so heavy I can barely breathe
Trying to drown out the hurt in endless caffeine
That only makes my heart race faster
And my breath more shallow

And most nights it seems I'm fading
Into the hell that is this life
Because I feel almost nothing
Except the shame and guilt that comes with existing

And my counselor says that
dissociation occurs most
with having done something awful
But how can I explain that
Simply living my life
Feels like an awful thing
And my heart tells me that
Death is my destiny

The therapist is just
the ****** of the mind,
he wants to get inside,
wants me to confide,

but I don't,
I won't,
budge a single step.
I won't dare share

a single tear I have wept.
With your cold sterile hands
and your deathly gaze,
you will never know me
or emerge from this maze.

Perhaps he would like to get something off of his chest?
I'd start with the knife I'm going to plunge into his hideous sweater vest.

step right up to this broken machine
she'll take anyone
look at this queen
she's shiny and new with smiles so bright
every step she takes is light
her colours are more than a rainbow can boast
she has more than any
she has the most
they drift in the wind and fall from her fingers
her joy is infectious
she's contentment's dead ringer

this machine never stops
that's why its so popular
people will travel far
there is no other
none so dedicated to her job as this
she's a volunteer so surely she loves it
but a crisis strikes every once in a while
the machine won't admit it, she's in denial
but her colour store is personally supplied
if she told you it's abundant, surely she lied

this machine has colours she enjoys sparing
but to spend her whole life as this machine is daring
machines must be turned off
must be unplugged
this machine never does because help is her drug
she goes and she goes until she overheats
her colours start melting
they run through the streets
these runaway colours are scooped up and scrounged
meanwhile the machine is left on the ground
she rusts while it rains, there on the ground

no regard for the girl whose rainbow
seems to be gone
look how she lays so
curled up and crying but not from her loss
crying because her aid is the cost
with no regard for herself she whispers
"if I take a break, look at who suffers"
but the rainbow too must be regrown
it can only take time and care and sweet tones
encouraging words to let her know
she's not alone, she will never be thrown
from this world with contempt
because love exists
but love may not always come to you free
sometimes there is just one fee
it isn't much... just to ask

Hello, said you.
Hello* said me.
Whats wrong you ask
I smile, nothing
You glare, Do not lie
I grin, But I'm not
You huff, Talk to me
I sit like a robot
You write in your book
my actions, Im sure
But I wont share my thoughts
with this talking doctor

i ran out of therapy and never went back.
no, it wasn't because i was afraid to talk about my problems
talk to me, talk to me about my anxiety and depression
talk to me about the slight hint of an eating disorder which i've carried in my sleeve ever since i was ten years old
talk to me about my fear of men and my need for their approval
i know my demons and i know them well,
i don't need to hide from them
i learnt how to face them ever since they stared back at me whenever i looked in the mirror and got tangled in the curls of my hair and i'm assuming they're hidden in the knots of my mind too

i ran out of therapy and never went back not because of my diseases but because of the fear of never finding a cure
you see i've tried the pills and i've tried the "lifestyle changes" and the yoga and meditation and all that
i've tried enduring it, i've tried ignoring it, i've tried fighting it
i've numbed it, i've hurt it, i've eaten it whole
but i've never tried to talk it out to a soul that has the potential to understand my soul
i talked to my best friend who recognized my demons because they inflict(ed?) her too and she listened and helped but she couldn't fix me, you understand?
and so i talked to my mom and she was a kind soul until she wasn't and said i was an ungrateful *****
then there was my favorite teacher who told me i needed help and that he wasn't equipped to do so
my boyfriend is still in denial, i think,
he listens though, a lot

but at the end of every failed attempt at a cure lies the same suggestions
"talk to someone, get therapy"
and i let myself believe that that was where the problem to all my solutions
no, sorry, i mean the solution to all my problems was
so i always had a back up, you see?
i always knew that when the sleeping pills didn't help me sleep
and when the yoga position did nothing more than pull a muscle
i always had a back up,
i'd call the therapist
i'd pull out the bigguns
and i'd be ok
because she had all the solutions
(the therapist has to be a girl, remember my fear of men?)
so the therapist always had all the solutions and so if i ever needed to be ok
i knew where to go

only that one day when stuff got bad
and i mean 4 hours in the ER with a morphine drip bad
i was sent to the therapist and ****
****
****
****
she was a good woman, you know?
a good woman with kids and a nice house and a cat and a dog who lived in harmony
all that great stuff
and she asked me about my family and all that
and i smiled and told her all that
and an hour and a half went past
and i felt really sleepy
like really sleepy
and still heavy and sad
and i said listen, woman, this costs way more than i can afford
so i need you to fix me in the next session
i'm sorry
she replies
in that therapist voice
(i HATE that voice)
i'm sorry
this will take months
weekly session
oh,
and you haven't paid yet
so please pay at the counter
and starting January
the fees for the sessions double
just a warning
then she led me out
and i saw her dog
and her cat
and her bookshelves
and they weren't the solution
they didn't help
there wasn't a magic pill
or if there was she didn't give it to me
and this would take time
time i didn't have
money i didn't have
i am not rich enough to be sick
i have work to do
i can't sit here and feel crap
i need a solution
i thought she was my solution
i thought she was my solution

i ran out of therapy and never went back
i tell myself the reason i'm still ****** in the head is because i didn't go through the whole course of therapy
that feel good
telling myself that feels good
because i still have a solution
my new solution is months of therapy
which i still haven't tried
and i never will
because i can't go to therapy and not get fixed
because i'll have nothing left then
i won't have hope then
i need hope now
i need hope more than cure now
so i think if i go to therapy long enough, i'll be cured
but i'll never go to therapy long enough
because i know somewhere inside that that isn't the answer
but i'll tell myself it is
i'll force myself to believe it is
ok therapy will help
when i spend the money and the time
it will it will
i will
be fixed
i can be fixed
there is hope.

Is there a humour therapist in the house?
Sitting here, chortling, do not grouse,
If you abuse crumpets, men,
You undermine your own best interests, do you ken?
Then you don't get crumpet, men,
Or is men a rude word,
You're reaping what you earn,
You want a cup of tea from me?
Chortle, the magic word is please!
You would not believe this ham,
Feeding the world this spam,
You want fresh vegetables?
Frozen food, not dementiable,
You can get another better than me,
So what's wrong with you, prithee?
Yes, the catering staff is on a sitdown strike,
You'd best find yourself a loving wife,
Chortle, shut up snivelling, you grouse,
Is there a humour therapist in the house?

I still remember
the look in your eyes
when I was standing
in front of the building
crying and shaking
you came down the stairs
asking what happened
you opened the door
not letting me out of your view
together we climbed the stairs
and when we were inside
i saw that you cried
in your room
when you were alone
and suddenly i knew
nobody's perfect
*- therapists can have therapists too

I tried to write a happy poem.
I tried to throw myself into a pit of nostalgia to try and remember what happiness feels like.

All my poems are so sad, I don't know why I'm so sad.
My therapist tells me I have self esteem issues that effect everything else in my life.
My insecurities have ways been there, I had just never been able to put a name to the face until I brought a razor to my skin for the first time and the pain didn't feel wrong.
I didn't know what I was doing was wrong, I had no idea that it was wrong to be a  12 years old with arms covered in scars I call my battle wounds,
because no one wants to talk about the elephant in the room when it sounds like I've been to war and I'm only 17.
They won't poke and **** me with questions when it sounds like I was captured by the enemy and skinned for my beliefs.
I won't be questioned why I am not happy.
Why at 12 years old I was unhappy and why I am 17 years old now and I am still not happy.

I tried to write a happy poem.
I tried to write a happy poem by thinking 6 years back to before I knew I put the name to the face, before my insecurities were put on show for the world to see,
before I knew it was wrong to hate myself for what I wasn't and for who I wanted to be.
Until it finally hit me.
I've never been happy.
My hair was never as long as the ******* my left,
my body was never as skinny as the ******* my right.
My smile was never the shiniest nor were my eyes the brightest.
I tried to write a happy poem, but I can't write about a foreign entity, I can't write about something I have never had.
The concept of happiness is so alien that no wonder that when people are overcome with the feeing they feel out of this world.

Happiness is a luxury that I have never been given the privilege of.
Happiness is a luxury that I have never I will never been given the privilege of of.

I tried to write a happy poem,
I feel more empty inside than I've ever felt before.