Another piece I wrote about depression – pretty sure in 2016. Slightly modified.
Battles in My Head I'm tired of picking myself off the floor. Sick of pasting on a smile when I walk out the door. Tired of trying to believe I'm fine, trying to ignore The hopelessness that feasts upon my core. Faces, lots of faces, everywhere I look. I wonder if my mind is like an open book. And if the faces choose to look the other way, Or if my suffering's a closed display. Sometimes I don't even know I'm there. I breathe it in and out just like the air. It wears the guise of headaches and fatigue Laziness, restlessness, nightmares, and fitful sleep. Depression, why won't you show your ugly face? And wear your heart on your sleeve, for all to see? Why must you be my secret enemy To torture me When no one's looking, Then force me to smile And hide my trial Live in denial of you? So they will never know what I am going through? But punish me instead For the outward signs of battles in my head? © 2017 Kate Richardson All Rights Reserved