The Waiting Room

 

 

For years I knew something was not right,

Asleep all day awake all night,

Nothing going right and everything wrong,

My life was like the saddest song.

 

The window incident changed my mind,

I needed all the help I could find.

A metaphorical sweeping of the broom,

Now I’m at my doctors waiting room.

 

Watching the clock slowing tick,

a visit to the dr might do the trick,

worried about the dreaded talk,

at the very least I left home for a walk.

 

 

minutes feel like years,

feeling anxious showing fears,

I am a man and we shed no tears!

all I want is some sympathetic ears.

 

The Doctor puts me so at ease,

he lets me talk and say what I please,

no matter how hard I try,

Once I open up I start to cry.

 

To get it out in the open,

to know your not alone,

proud that what I did was strong,

to realise that hiding my problems was wrong.

 

The weight on my shoulders has been lifted,

a chance for recovery has been gifted,

and now begins my hardest fight,

to win this battle with all my might.

 

Some days are good some days are bad,

trying to get back the good times I once had,

the good news is I answered my question,

I am not going mad I have depression!

 

©Thedepressedmoose

13 comments on “The Waiting Room

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