It’s Hard to Admit

It’s something I don’t like to give too much thought.
What if it’s true and I somehow get caught.
Will I be judged in a way, most unfair.
Do folks want to know or do they even care.

What will it do to my soul and esteem.
How will I plan or continue to dream.
What if they’re right. If I’m mentally ill.
How will that suit me. My heart and my skill.

What if my mind is a big fairy tale.
Will I succeed or quite miserably fail.
Will I get better by taking more drugs.
Or am I just lacking in love and in hugs.

Maybe I’m sane and the truth (to be known).
Is I am quite sane. Problem is I’m alone.
My feelings, I share, and they’re right from my guts.
Maybe I’m right. It’s the world that is nuts.

Perhaps I should bend, and accept that I’m ill.
Guess I won’t know, less I try, not until,
I give it an effort. Pursue medication.
Find me an end to this long aggravation.

Of being so high I refuse to come down.
To lows I reflect in my eyes and my frown.
Maybe a medium, somehow awaits me.
A cure to the hell and the fate that so traits me.

One thing I know. That my answer’s been lost.
I could not begin to explain what it’s cost.
Perhaps I am sick, though it’s hard to admit.
Give credit—I’m trying. At least I’ve not quit.

As much as I’ve lost and as much as I’ve fell.
My mind’s been in Heaven. It’s, too, been thru Hell!
I want what is right, ‘fore this soul of mine goes.
To deal with these highs and these miserable lows.