It’s not tidy this depression thing
You can’t wrap me up in cellophane
Mask the pain.
I won’t react or act the way I should
Do the things a proper depressed person could
Slit my wrists or cut my arms
My depression lacks those usual harms.
But I will definitely push you away.
Get angry when you judge my ways.
Because depression isn’t what the leaflet says.
It comes in all sorts of wrapping
A hard crash of the skull or an incessant nagging.
I’m sorry if I can’t be the one you save
By encouraging me to remain brave
By telling me to try to get out of bed
Any advice on how to leave my head?
So let’s call this a true confession
From me to you about my depression
It’s not neat certainly not light
So don’t get annoyed if I don’t get it right.