My dirty little secret keeps me from living free.
Fear of being wrongly judged, of people finding out
That there is the other me that so few do know about.
Doctor after doctor, shrinking my wallet and my head;
Thoughts that make no sense, as I pop another med.
The other me is very clever--but I have learned to compensate...
To even outwit, at times, the phobias of my fate.
Getting stuck on just one thought, replays for hours in my head.
My only mission often was to never wish that I was dead.
The crawl up to my bottom took a nasty toll--
My body and my mind--the other me was in control.
Giving up, too weak to fight; too tired to even sleep--
Another prescription filled; another horror yet to reap.
I hid. I wept. I drank. I cursed the day I was ever born.
Anxiety, so paralyzing, made me most forlorn.
I let confusion and resentment lead me by the hand
To a lonely, angry room--where the other me was in command.
We argued and debated, and I forgot often how to breathe.
The other me, victorious, watched me shake and seethe.
I came to understand that faith was more than just a word...
This set me on a healing path where at long last I was heard.
My mental demons, in retreat, refused to fully leave--
But I could feel again, and I must continue to believe.
Obstacles are more than just a lazily whispered: No
The other me is still attached; not quite a friend nor quite a foe.
Panic, depression, compulsive: I was rewarded many a name--
Nothing stung my soul so fiercely as feeling I was the one to blame.
There was no rhyme or reason--this had to be my fault!
Guilt ravaged my waning sanity, as I begged for it to halt.
My wounds were raw, so fragile--I always asked myself: why me.
Held captive in my head, repeating yet another final plea.
