Invisible Illness

Sometimes I wish the pain I’m in
could be seen upon my skin.
Darkly bruised or blotch spots
bright white scars or red little dots.

Then maybe you would think it’s real
and not that, out nothing I make a big deal.
That it’s not laziness but pain that produces
these things that sound like lame excuses.

Then maybe, my friends could see
that it’s not them, it’s really me.
And maybe they could understand
why sometimes I cancel a long held plan.

Or maybe my boss could finally realize
that when I call in sick, it’s not just lies
That something in me is truly wrong
I’m not just sitting on a couch, smoking a bong. 

I swear, that I am not a flake
Just deep inside I have this ache
that doesn’t seem to go away
it just builds and builds through out the day

It feels like it just weighs me down
pins me flat against the ground.
A constant voice that says it’s all my fault
within my own head, I’m under assault.

One moment it is you should just die.
It’s no use, why even try.
The next, it’s there’s so much to do
and all of it depends on you.

Depression pulls one way, Anxiety the next
with me in the middle feeling vexed.
Little things seem to overwhelm
and I start to wonder who is really at the helm.

Yet, each day I awake again to fight
it takes my patients, focus and might.
It leaves me looking like a lesser being
weak, unreliable, and always fleeing.

I fight with something, your not sure is even there
and your doubt fills me with such despair.
Then there are those who say if you’re so ill
why don’t you just take this magic pill.

But the medicine comes at a cost
with a thousand side affects casual tossed
at the end of some commercial spree.
It may be for some but maybe not for me.

And society say, it’s something I shouldn’t openly talk about
while billboards, T.V., and magazines spout
ads telling me all the reasons why
I should tell my doctor I want to give that drug a try.

Then some say how about therapy
but I have found it quite costly.
Plus I travel an awful lot
and therapists tend to stay in one spot.

I know, it sounds like excuses again
but how many out there feel this pain.
The idea of therapy or medicine is great
but it is paused, pushed back, told it will have to wait.

Because the bills are due now and food’s needed too
and only so much can happen with my revenue.
So I soldier on, often by myself
trying not to show the breaks in my metal health.

For that which is not commonly understood
is said to be fake, dangerous, or not good.
And since it can’t be measured it must not be true
I must be faking for attention or lying to you.

This is my life day in and day out
some days can be good, others I just can’t help but pout.
And while high functioning mental illness is my reality
it is your lack of understanding that makes it, my tragedy.