Wake up in the morning, start yawning,
Pulling the duvet over my head,
Twisting and turning,
Yearning, for a precious few more minutes,
Before I gotta start earning.
Don’t wanna see or talk to no one,
Not this early.
Loud noises and stimulation aren’t for me this early.
I take my time, warm up a little bit,
Doubt myself and thinks some more before I go for it.
Three years ago I took a hit,
Didn’t enjoy my job one bit,
So I handed in my notice, I gave a sh*t,
Thought I’d become the next big hit.
But I ain’t got nothing to show for it.
Depression, anxiety, and mood swings to go with it,
Down in the dumps tryna ride slo,
But not feeling like those lyrics by Jason Derulo.
I went down, deep down,
Wasn’t responding to friends no mo’,
Going out and seeing people was a big no-no,
Even my regular gym became a no-go.
Insania, mania, no one to take the blame-i-a,
Mum got scared, she was my saviour,
Went to see a doc recommended to her,
He gave me the truth I needed to hear.
I took pills and had therapy,
Wish I’d had ‘em when I was twenty-three.
Not twenty-seven – no friends, no job, should’ve been starting a family.
Doing all them things I see in society,
All those things expected of me.
Job. Wife. House. Kids.
Ain’t that the way it’s s’posed to go?
Told to go to group therapy – wanting to say “no, no, no!”,
But I did go, I didn’t know,
What to expect, what I’d get,
Whether I’d become more f*cked up or earn some self-respect.
Two years on, I’m still not entirely sure yet.
Learning more about my mind,
The thoughts and patterns occupying my life,
The same patterns responsible for there being no girlfriend or wife,
For struggling like I have in life,
Trouble and strife. Tryna put it all down like Obie Trice,
I either feel low or feel so high,
Go from anxious dude to this hyper guy.
Don’t know how to find,
The balance in between,
That medium that seems most healthy.
To be come the sort of person that’s wealthy,
In all respects,
And doesn’t neglect,
One area of his life for another.
I haven’t stopped being a kid yet.
Learning to look after myself,
Keep me in check before I crack myself,
Whack myself, forget myself.
Neglect myself, again.
Until then, we’ll have to see then.
To see of my meds and therapy continue to be there,
To help me where,
I feel overwhelmed, or hopeless,
Or instead steam ahead.
Put the foot on the breaks, and slow down,
No smile, but no frown –
Level-headed, so no sh*t goes down.
Now you know why,
I was the class clown,
Entertaining and pleasing to feel loved and liked,
I only realise that now.
I guess that’s why they call me awkward and brown.
– – – – –
✏ Saturday, 31 March 2018
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