Pills

I've a pill to make me happy
A pill to make me sad
A pill to make me wish
And a pill to make me dream
Plus a pill to just remind me
That I'll never be the same.
My pills make me sleep
Then perk me up,
They make me happy
Then tread me down.
You know what gets me most?
There's a pill
To make me human
To change my mind
When they said
All along
That
I could never be
Would never be
Enough.


Just a crappy little poem there as I was thinking over the issue of mental illness and therapy and so-called cures. I know that there is no cure for bipolar, or anything else. Why is this? Because, really, no-one knows what it is. A diagnosing doctor can't tell me how it feels, the nurse who frowns at my cuts can't say she's never thought about it, the HCA who mops up my blood can't scold me for bleeding...

We all bleed. Everyday. Not always blood or tears or sweat, but humankind. We bleed through injuries and hurts and cuts. We lose people and we fall in love, we sleep and we dream and we wake. We go through a million cycles everyday, just to be called alive... so what I do/did is just a visual for the world. It just says to people I am like you. It reminds them that everybody does hurt, everybody is hurting.

I am what all people feel, but refuse to look at.
I am called ugly for my scars.
I am called selfish for my illness.
I am called a freak for my feelings.
Well guess what?
We are all scarred.
1 in 4 people are mentally ill.
Everybody feels.

So this Christmas... hug a crazy person, we're just like you ;)

Love you