only sick people want to be sick…🌷🤍 #spokenpoetry #poetrytok #originalpoem

I used to pray for fevers, the same way other girls prayed to be loved. I wanted to be sick, not the dying kind of sick, I mean for the most part, but the kind of sick that allows you to lay down without needing to apologize for it. My therapist told me only sick people want to be sick. That only sick people crave a fever the way others crave something sweet. But I was never sweet, I never wanted to be. I loved being better, I loved believing that the world wouldn't get better, because bitterness was the only thing to ever stay consistent. It was the only thing that ever really chose to stay in my life at all. And when you're depressed long enough you start to confuse the hollowness in your soul for your identity. Like maybe you were born empty while everyone else was born warm. People want evidence for your pain, numbers, charts, symptoms, something they can measure, something they can diagnose. But there's no thermometer for the days you can't make yourself move. No scan that shows the places your mind has gone to die. There's no medical note that excuses a soul that's tired of trying. I used to pray for fevers, the same way other girls prayed to be loved, because at least a fever has a decency to show up when you're burning. My depression never did. And it's ironic, because it's the only sickness the world insists you need to prove that you have while the whole time you are dying from it.