I'm tired. I have - what do the psychiatrists like to call it? - extremely complicated depression (oh, and panic disorder and ADHD, just to keep me well-rounded). This means every possible cocktail of drugs they've tried never quite does the trick. I've come to accept that I'll always need pharmaceuticals; however, after the incident of February 2015 that we do not speak of, one crucial ingredient was taken out the mix. Imagine! One simple little pill is gone and I'm contemplating suicide.
Because whenever I doubt myself, you're my number one cheerleader. When I'm panicky, you're there to calm the storm. And when I'm sad, you kiss away my tears. But I see you, and it's just everything.
I understand that my body chemistry is unique (we are special little snowflakes, after all). That doesn't stop the frustration. And my therapist, she says she's so incredibly proud of me. For all I've accomplished. For all I'm continuing to do. So why don't I feel proud? Why do I just feel... tired? But that doesn't mean I'm never happy. And I have mostly you to thank. Because whenever I doubt myself, you're my number one cheerleader. When I'm panicky, you're there to calm the storm. And when I'm sad, you kiss away my tears. Funny how you say you are the one who's lucky to be with me. I'm more than just tired. I'm fucking exhausted. But I see you, and it's just everything.