Never Let It Win

She was so young, so full of dreams,When her world slowly began to unravel at the seams.

Depression turned her into a creature of the night,

Having gradually extinguished every bright light.

She turned to self-harm and self-isolation,

Dreading the hospitals and side-effects of medication.
She, twice, tried to leave, she had just turned eighteen,

For this world, in her eyes, was too painful, too mean.

But although she struggled, she fought her way back,

Only now, she went through life as an opheliac.

For a while, life was okay, until she heard it calling,

That dreaded darkness and she knew she was falling.
Agoraphobia with panic disorder, now too, she was told,

As, once again, the severe depression took hold.

Month after month of rarely going outside,

For fear the panic attacks and nausea wouldn’t subside.

But she decided to stay here, not to give in,

For she knew, in this war, you die or you win.
She got her life back thanks to an M.A.O.I.,

The good days more frequent, the years passed by,

Until good was too good, fast-forward too fast,

No sleep, no time, she crashed at last.

Bipolar 2, she slowly turned numb,

As her emotions were shut down with lithium.
She kept going, she had to, she gave herself no choice,

Two years, consistently ignoring that destructive little voice,

Until that car accident, there was no physical harm,

But it mentally triggered a dormant alarm.

She had been here before; she tried to force it back,

But no amount of therapy was knocking this demon off track.
Paranoia, conspiracy theories, severe sleep deprivation,

Psychosis made voices scream from every radio station.

Now there was madness on multiple levels –

Same bloody hell, new fuckin’ devils.

She was watched all the time in a world of her own,

Good or bad, every thought and feeling was known.
Hallucinations, delusions, euphoria and utter despair,

Weeks of pure terror, weeks without a care,

Almost two years passed, she was lost in the music,

The instruments, lyrics and melodies therapeutic.

She would’ve stayed there, on good days, for the ghost in a song,

And paranoid schizophrenia it had been all along.
Voices in the shadows, however, turned horribly obscene,

She couldn’t take it anymore and agreed to try clozapine.

Schizoaffective disorder was her latest diagnosis,

And the future looked brighter with favourable prognosis.

With the drugs, though, her Otherworld slowly faded away,

But she converses with music, still, to this day.
Despite it all, it’ll never take her,

Regardless of how many times it completely breaks her.

She’ll reassemble what’s left and rise from the ashes,

Tougher and stronger from all the mental crashes.

She knows how to survive now, she refuses to give in,

And when she has to go to war – she’ll never let it win.

Stigma Fighters: Clara Martin

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