I am not the judgments laid upon me.
They define me.
I am the scars they view as flaws on my body.
I am unstable. I am psychotic.
They define me.
I am my attempts and trips to the hospital.
I am my medication. I am my disease.
They don’t understand.
I am not my problems in any way.
I am not my illness.
They don’t understand.
Just like an individual with diabetes, I am sick.
I can be helped just as anyone else can.
They want to shame me.
I am not a terrible person.
I am not defined as the imbalance in my mind.
If they could look past what is said to be “wrong” with me
they would know
that I am sweet. I am caring. I am silly. I am wise.
I am so much more than my illness.
Those around me cannot degrade me for an uncontrollable circumstance.
Mental illness is not a joke, but it is not a definition.
It is not different in any sense from
diabetes or autism.
It is not a choice. It is chosen just as one chooses their skin color.
They cannot define me.
I am not a flaw.
I am not insane.
I am not different from anyone else in this world.