Tag: poet

Genre: Rhyme, Life, Depression

DEPRESSION 101 by Lydia Lockett

I owe my psychiatrist $1500
I fell asleep on his couch

It’s hard to cope as a victim of crimes
Now my anger’s and pain is so intertwined
I’m thoroughly pissed….
And I’m not easy to assist
‘Cause I don’t trust those motha’ fuckin’ therapists

I don’t want to waste time in sessions
Making them laugh ease to their depression
‘Cause that’s what how I’m made…
I perform and they get paid

While I don’t have the bus fare
To get there
And I walk to the clinic
And I wait till the others are finished

And the clinician
He’s no magician
He’s a dealer of prescriptions

The agony still plagues my mind
Only this time
I got his bullshit added to the line
Of never-ending torments

Like those who commit suicide
Or deal with oppression and genocide
And hunger and corruption
And this motha’-fucka’ don’t recognize
That people are suffering in front of his eyes
But he don’t care
He’s self-satisfied

What he prescribes
May keep us alive
But he don’t realize
We need to be happy and free
However he don’t agree

On his wall, he’s got a doctor’s degree
In society, he’s got respect in the community
But in reality,
He’s got hookers paid by some drug companies
While his therapy lacks validity
And we’ve got nothing to eat
And go 3 weeks with 6 bags of tea

We’ve got a functional disability
We’re not in the norm
He’s the only one who will fill out the fuckin’ forms
We start to wish we were never born

He’s perceptive, he asks;
“Why do you look so forlorn?
What’s bothering you the most?”
I look him straight in the eyes and say;
“Refer to your notes”

The Prozac obliterates your libido
So sex is no longer on your mind
You don’t fix yourself up
You don’t take the time

And when you see a love scene on T-V
You think, “People are still into that?
It’s so passé!”
And then you re-member how horny you used to be
Just yesterday.

You start to think about procreation
And how the hell are you gonna fit into that equation?

And then you find out that someone you know just did it
He didn’t write a note to make it official
He just put the gun to his temple
He kept it simple

Charlatan doctors
Made money off his pain
Backed by the government
This happens again and again

Suffering to pay their bills is not our worth
That is not why we were put on this earth.
Sometime, somebody’s got to put your interests first

Are we just unlucky?
Or have we been cursed?
And no one understands or gives a damn
How much it hurts

I should never have walked into his office
I should have quit when I was ahead
This brings me to the conclusion
That many people think
They are better off dead.”

I talk about depression
Attack the repression
Illustrate the mind set
Redirect the thunder

So if you find out, one day, G-d forbid
That somebody you know just killed them self
You may not have to wonder!

* * * * *

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