Let me try to explain what it's like to have a mental illness.

Life becomes a watercolor someone left out in the rain.

Your thoughts are not your own, sometimes your actions too.

Your hands shaking slightly, but enough to leave stray marks on the paper.

Your body lethargic, even after sleeping half the day away.

Your feet heavy, dragging you somewhere you'd rather not go.

Did I take my pills?

Did I take my pills?

Did I take my pills?

Time is a foreign language and everyday blends into the same shade of grey.

Feeling worthless is nothing new, you mind just finds new ways to say it.

You're a shell of the human you used to be.

You're faking it.

You're faking it.

You're faking it.

"You don't really seem depressed."

"Why don't you just try being happy?"

"Have you ever cared about anything in you whole life!?"

No one needs you.

No one needs you. 

No one needs you.

Sometimes the razor on your skin makes you feel something.

Because the screaming in your head needs a bottle of pills to stop.

The pressure of just being alive makes a noose look like the most beautiful necklace.

Sadly, for some people their poem ends there.

Trust me, I've been to hell and back and I still face those demons.

But let me tell you the people who make it through can be the strongest people.