An After Migraine Depression

I’m struggling to find myself,
I’m struggling to define "me."
I knew me once,
but I’m fearful:
I think he’s gone.
"I want"
is no longer an appropriate sentence
and "I feel"
is too dangerous to say.
Walk from A to B,
along the way there is nothing
but "Thou shalt not’s."
My entire life
is an "I have to."
I had two counselors,
opposing viewpoints
last year.
One felt happiness was irrelavent.
The other said nothing was more relavent
than happiness.
So whose time and money was wasted?
Walk across the parking lot,
and hang my head.
Depression = the absense of hope.
In fact,
all of it is in my head.
I used to want to be
a famous chef,
or a famous writer, perhaps.
Then I wanted to be a good writer,
then a minister.
Then, I stopped caring.
It was discouraged out of me,
and I am easily discouraged.
Now my goals are pithy and pathetic,
a six - pack of beer,
making it through another day at work,
not pissing off the wrong people.
These are the people who know
exactly which of my buttons to push.
Some for positive results,
some for negative results.
None will actually ever hear me scream.
Can I please just f*cking scream?!
Just to be a man for once,

and show some frustration?

Instead, no

there is nothing but depression and

"don’t write / share / say / etc. that."

So yes, I can wind up,

walk mechanically,

and have my cheeks painted another shade of ruby.

I’ve played that game

for a long time.
Sometimes,
sex is used to get me to behave
or stay in line
with a certain way of thinking.
But all I do
is become more depressed.
I am not wired
in the typical fashion.
But this is of little concern
to the outside world,
which encompasses
everyone
else.