Let us talk about what makes me feel good.

But this time, I won't share it on

my therapist's green couch or

my psychiatrist's wooden chair

or to myself when I feel myself slowly start to slip.

You see, I am prescribed an anti-depressant.

And while that little pill makes me feel better

makes the pain look less appealing

makes my tears pause

makes the fog dissipate

and makes the suffering silenced,

I cannot say it makes me feel good.

Rather, the happiness comes from my strength.

For without me

this depression would not have a home.

But because of me, 

I have learned to manage the roommate.

One day I will have the whole place to myself

which is happy.

But because of my raw resilience,

I am happy.

This poem is about: 
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 



I understand this poem so well. I take Zoloft. :)

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741