You ask me why I’m always late,
Is it just that I don’t care?
Do I think my time
Is more important than yours?
“Honestly,” you say. “It’s just not fair.”
I tell you that I’m sorry,
I don’t mean to be so rude.
It’s just that I struggle-
I can’t really explain,
But I have an ever-changing mood.
You ask me what that has to do,
With my always changing plans.
Why can I not
Just stick to my word?
It’s not like it’s out of my hands.
I try to explain to you that it is;
I can’t always control how I feel.
I may want to go out,
enjoy myself and live,
But depression always brings me back to heel.
You get angry at me,
Tell me you are “sick of my excuses”.
You say I need
to get motivated, and try
to change the way I view this.
On the inside I am crying,
Though my face is a blank shell.
I want to scream,
“I am fighting!”
I do want to break free from my cell.
You shake your head at my silence.
Beg me to talk to you.
You say that you
need my help,
To find something that will get me through.
I feel myself withdrawing.
Even though I want you to understand,
The darkness inside
Just won’t let me talk.
Doesn’t want me to have a helping hand.
You sigh and turn to leave,
I see the irritation in your eyes.
As you go
You say to me
“Success only comes to the one that tries.”
I know that you are right.
But at the same time you do not see,
Crippling anguish inside,
Strong enough to bring me to my knees.
You see, this hidden monster inside me,
It likes to play this cruel game.
Where it lets me think
That I’m ok,
That I have it calm and tame.
It is only then, that it rears
It’s ugly little head.
“Just kidding,” it laughs.
“Can’t you feel
my power filling you with dread.”
I don’t know where my monster came from,
But I think it is part of me now.
Its roots go deep,
It’s grip suffocating.
I want rid, but I don’t know how.
So when you ask me why I am like this,
I can only tell you that I do not know.
But I do know that
I am fighting,
Even if it doesn’t always show.
© J. E. Fitzgerald