My comfy chair

Mental health - a trick of the mind. Thoughts are usually torture, so rarely are they kind. 

A ‘chemical imbalance’ is what lots of people say. “Here, take this tablet. It’ll all go away”. 

But the thing with depression, is that it’s here to stay. In a little box, in the back of your mind - Just try and keep it locked away. 

Those ugly thoughts, the darkest nights and the longest foggy days. Bouncing against the walls in your head, there’s no way out of this maze. 

I’m good at things, but not for long.
They never seem to last.
I find it hard to concentrate and then it’s in the past. 

I sometimes like to feel the rain, it makes me feel alive. I replaced that feeling with nicotine and hoped that I’d still thrive. 

I inked my skin and coloured my hair, to prove to the world that I don’t care. Yet the truth beyond this artistic affair; is to look at myself I can hardly bare. 
My image is my armour and so is my smile although this only lasts for a while. 

My conscience is my critic, she is always there. Sat there waiting in the comfiest chair. 

But now life is my mission, and I want that chair - to be in control, she can sit elsewhere. 

I am the master of my mind, and she can keep me in check. Because sometimes I’m good, and sometimes I’m a wreck. 

I’m human, I’m me. Not a prisoner, I’m free. 
My depression doesn’t decide who I get to be.