Dysthymia
Fierce, happiness, positivity—thoughts of who I was & how I always use to be.
Within my head, searching like a pirate seeking the X that marks the spot, so desperately.
Hoping to find a treasure chest, but needing it to be filled with different things.
Instead of gold, I long for strength to overcome dysthymia’s obstacle onslaught of anxiety.
The problem is, I’m not a pirate & there’s no cure-all treasure chest In reality.
Oh, this vessel just isn’t as strong as you might think & see—
due to this storm that hit & won’t leave.
One of us have to go, dysthymia or me due to this depression & it’s gang that bullies me, mentally.
I have no choice but to carefully clear out my head by planning an escape to flea.
Quickly I grab what I need, paper, a pen & a quiet place to sit down & think.
Putting pen to paper, helps me free my soul & my mind by expressing myself, to me.
Bipolar & anxiety, never agree with each other nor do they agree with me, depression or ADHD.
Each diagnosis has different views, feelings, emotions & personalities.
You can’t put multiple people all different in their own views, in a room & expect anyone to agree.
Too many points, opinions, shouting, fighting & lack of understanding.
So it’s me against them, one on one with the pen or the pencil, whoever’s on duty & the paper, mediating.
Adhd likes to explain itself through drawings and paintings, since colors explain her issues better than words for she.
Bipolar likes to use her words, verbally but gets ahead of herself, so the pen is key.
Anxiety likes to calm down through scenarios & some poetry.
Depression will do whatever she can, in order to ignore dysthymia’s
way of making my life look darker than the black sea.
Unlike my mind, a pen or pencil can only express one word at a time—
making sense of what myself needs in order to keep safe from me.