THE DIAGNOSIS
Things were getting pretty rough,
So I started doing far out stuff.
They all said I should go see a doctor.
No problem… I caught the next helicopter.
The doc said, “No worries mate.”
(An Aussie shrink… I guess I rate)
“Your trouble is not a great big deal,
But I’m afraid it’s… well, quite for real.”
So tell me already, I’m getting stressed.
Another minute, I’ll be clinically depressed.
“It’s been recently discovered… a new condition.
There’s many folks in the same position.”
“What you have is like a bad molar.
I’m sorry to say, you’re Bipolar.”
So is a magnet… I know my physics.
If that’s your answer, then no more visits.
You mean I attract and repel people simultaneously,
Or have you just spoken off the cuff extraneously?
“No, the term denotes mood swings extreme,
Which mark the illness, it would seem.
“You’ve had them haven’t you…,
Those manic highs, those crashes blue?"
Bipolar? What the heck is that?!
Whoever started it… is a dirty rat.
“A myriad of meds I’ll try, old and new,
To find the one that works for you.
“And I’ll counsel you to understand,
You can beat this, if you’ll lend a hand.”
Do me a favor and shut your face!
I feel fine… I’m getting out of this place.
“I urge you not to, I truly do.
There is hope, we’ve helped many others,
We’ll help you too.”
(c) Mitch Davis
March 2007