You can’t tell that I’m not well,
You can’t see depression,
I feel hopeless, worthless, too.
It’s no point telling me to pull myself together,
Go for a nice long walk, do some exercise or anything else that you would like me to do.
I don’t hear you.
I know that you mean well,
But it’s me that isn’t well,
At the moment criticizing, demoralizing me,
Doesn’t mean a thing to me.
At the moment, I don’t care what I wear,
I don’t care if I live or die,
I don’t care about material things,
I don’t care about money,
It’s only money you can’t eat money.
I feel alone,
I have no friends or family.
It’s just me sitting alone, clinging to a little piece of the planet,
I can fight depression.
But I might not be able to fight Prozac, if it takes a hold on me.
I will be okay tomorrow because it’s tomorrow that keeps me going.
Dorothy Maude