Depression

A problem that makes so many suffer;

a problem that hurts and damages;

a problem that seems to have no buffer;

a problem that leaves nothing but bandages.

A society torn by two sides:

some that support while others ostracize.

Suffering people that just need our help,

yet people just judge and call them a whelp.

Not a decision, a weakness, a fault;

a way of life brought on by…who knows?

A mental state that should not be condemned.

Not a decision – who would want to live this way?

Not a weakness that should be bullied.

Not a fault or a character flaw that should determine identity.

The stigma comes and the stigma lasts,

and makes the truth difficult to admit.

For how can you admit the pain

when all you get is judgment and hate?

Understanding, support and help is all they need

but instead we medicate, send away, or ignore

those that beg for something so simple.

Hatred and a label for the rest of their life,

pity in some eyes and fear in others

keeps it inside, close to the heart.

I never told my parents what I went through

so my friend got me through what I needed to;

but what about others who don’t know what to do?

Do they belong in an institute, drugs making

them numb to the world? Or just trapped in

their own jail of pain that no one bothers to

help them escape from? Whatever it takes to make

them fit the rules and norms of society, right?

We try to be rational;

Order, order, order,

Oh wait, that’s a disorder.

It doesn’t make sense to shut people out

when they are in need.

Judgments and stereotypes have come to rule all,

whether it’s gender, race, a religion, sexual orientation

or a mental disorder.

Nothing is what it seems.

A person’s life is not what it seems.