You saw me in my time of need,
saw that I was a mess.
And soon the doctor said indeed,
that yes, I am depressed.
Simply put, you weren't surprised.
After all, you knew.
You finally found me a guide,
someone to help me work through.
As I got better,
you cheered me on.
But our relationship grew bitter,
when you learned I have thoughts you frown upon.
I started to become your problem.
you began to get sick too.
You always acted cheerful,
never saying "I'm afraid of you."
Everything was normal,
until you finally said something.
I felt awful,
so to you, a conversation I had to bring.
You called me insane.
Sure, I may be paranoid.
But just because my brain
has problems you'd like to avoid,
I am not your problem.