#psychiatrist
Oh dear psychiatrist,
How I hope your words are true,
That there's not much more wrong with me,
As much as there is wrong with you.
Oh dear psychiatrist,
Who am i?
"You're just an unstable kid
That soon will die."
Oh dear psychiatrist,
When will I die?
"When the gun will kiss your head,
Your mind will say goodbye."
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 1:45 PM UTC
Psychiatrists quick to diagnose and medicate,
Throwing pills at problems without any fate,
But the more prescriptions they prescribe,
The more my thoughts become a blur,
and I can no longer decide.
I feel like a puppet on a string,
My own mind slipping further from being.
The drugs numb me,
my emotions, my thoughts,
Until I'm a shell, no longer the self I sought
Apr 21, 2025
Apr 21, 2025 at 9:55 AM UTC
The psychiatrist
desperately deals hard blows --
to me, to my thoughts.
Jul 18, 2023
Jul 18, 2023 at 3:37 AM UTC
ermh:
hello, mr. bucket.
i need you.
i need you to listen to me.
i need you to feel me.
i need you to give me advices.
i need to speak to you at anytime that suits me best.
i need your private number.
i need you to help me and i need you to
heal me.
i need
i nee
i ne
i n
i
Dec 18, 2019
Dec 18, 2019 at 4:59 AM UTC
i went to see a psychiatrist last monday in the “avenues” and it was refreshing in a way because she actually listened to me, without making me nervous, which is hard. she asked me simple questions, i told her of the ****** abuse as a child, and the toxicity of my relationship before. she asked how my quality of sleep is, and i said it’s fine but i wake up crying or once i screamed ****** ****** and i also punched the fan blowing on my face in my sleep because i thought i was being attacked. i have panic attacks after grocery shopping and a phobia of crowds, although i’m really unsafe anywhere, anything could happen is how i feel. (my whole life has felt like i’m on the edge of a cliff) i pick at my face, and sometimes pluck out my hair. embarrassing. but better than when i was a young girl and ****** on my.. ****** hair... ugh. wow.
anyway she said it sounds like i’m having ptsd symptoms, and that my behavior is very common in people with childhood trauma. she adjusted my meds, now i’m on the highest dose prozac, doxycycline for my face, flexeril, klonopin nightly, and trazadone. oh and birth control. anyway i called out to work one day because the night previous i had had two panic attacks, in my sleep as well. long story short my coworker (i think she’s my friend but i really don’t know to tell you the truth) asked how i was, and i told her everything i just said. she replied with “ptsd from what?”
and my thing is i’ve told her of *** abuse when I was a child, and i’ve told her about my toxic abusive relationship. so i replied with photos i’ve taken over the years of my self harm and explained again the abuse and she never replied. i see her at work and she acts chipper as always and just exactly like my friend/coworker. but the only thing she said to me about the pictures i sent her “are you feeling any better?” as she was getting in her car.
that stung a little bit.
anyway i truly am a crybaby. no sense of direction because i have no sense of urgency. “nothing really matters, anyone can see”
and yet there are days when the sun shines even though it hurts my eyes, and it’s beautiful, the flowers in our front yard are beautiful. i’m grateful for life. maybe the meds are working again, hm?
Jun 24, 2019
Jun 24, 2019 at 11:58 PM UTC
"It will be 2 or 3 weeks before there is any change."
I doubt these will help at all.
This pit in my chest, it won't ever be gone.
Depression can't be cured. Or that's what I heard.
I've felt bad for so long, would feeling okay just feel wrong?
I was sitting on a bench, reading a book
Smiling
To myself. No one was watching.
I was smiling for me, naturally.
The change creeped up slowly.
So slow I almost didn't know.
I'm suddenly crying, confused
Thankful!
I didn't think I would ever again
See how bright the sun had been.
Notice how nice the breeze felt against my skin.
A tiny change, some pills a day
changed my life in a meaningful way.
I promise you, I'm not happy all the time. But I feel all emotion
Instead of constant inner commotion.
Thank you. Thank you.
Thank me. I could have ended it, I almost did twice. But right now,
Living feels nice.
Feb 6, 2018
Feb 6, 2018 at 9:58 AM UTC
I was born with wounds in my head
they tell me I’ll be better and they give me pills
but oh, nothing takes you out of
me for you are stitched into my soul
like disease.
Sometimes I want to hide in my
mother’s womb and build
a fortress of all the tears we’ve cried
you and I
so there's a bed
and there’s our bodies intertwined
like homes that swallow the skies
and dance under the pouring rain
and during hurricanes
there’s a body and there’s another
there’s a pill and there’s the other
and there’s my dry mouth begging for
a drizzle, from your soul, boy.
**** medications.
Apr 15, 2016
Apr 15, 2016 at 6:49 PM UTC
jesse and i used to play games of fairies as children. i still have the drawing book which we gathered "facts" from. her crazy neighbor (with basically ten siblings.Mormons) played the games with us, but she too lived them. we put out "food" for them, ran from evil spirits, used powers to fuel the plot, ran through the trees and down hills, and used leaves, sticks, the weather, and even sounds in the wind to move the story. we grew to dismiss it as child's play (though i can't speak for the girl), but it was real. it was as real as anything, and affected us more than all else. our childhood was a fairy-tale it just didn't get a "happily ever after" in cursive at the bottom of the page. it was magic all the same.
Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 2:49 AM UTC
Years later
Bathsheba's psychiatrist
Was analysing the tryst
Between King David
And her.
It was no tryst
Said she.
What a slur.
He was a ******
And an opportunist.
An amoeba would concur
Said the psychiatrist
That a shower screen
And being more demure
Would have been
Quite spiritually enterprising.
You cannot expect
Kind David to desist
From objectifying your femurs
And a cracking pair of amethysts.
Don't treat me
Like some calculating
Hormone Exchange Unit
You sexist misogynist.
You are not fit
To analyse me.
You say your name's Freud
But you're wholly devoid
Of any insight
Of what is amiss
Or my troubles might be.
Not one piece of grit
Have you put in my oyster.
You obsequious churl
I'm a girl you don't mess with.
I could have you hung.
But instead she dismissed him
and booked an appointment
With a certain professor
Who went by the name of
Carl Gustav Jung.
May 23, 2014
May 23, 2014 at 11:27 AM UTC