‘You have lost weight.’
My brother has come on a visit.
When he leaves, I go to the mirror.
I am pale and small. I have lost weight.
I washed my hair, twisted it into a bun.
It is still wet, so it sticks up.
I look like Tintin.
I look small and fragile,
but I know what I did.
I took on a psychiatric illness, and I defeated it.
Depression so severe, that everyone else had left the field.
‘Your daughter will never recover, in my opinion.’
Learned Doctors giving us a gloomy forecast.
The thing is, I am like a soldier returned from the war.
He knows how to fight, but now he is on civvy street.
I am struggling now.
I do not know where to begin, with life after a mental illness.