I am standing on the edge of a bridge. I am carrying Jesus’ baby.
I have changed my name to Mary. No one is here to save me.
People say I am crazy, I don’t know if it’s genetic,
But I am not mental. I am schizophrenic.

I cause myself pain because I am dead on the inside,
The scars are for life, but somewhere I can hide.
Yesterday I found a paper clip and dug a hole in my arm,
I am not mental but I am in control when I self harm.

I don’t like been sick anymore than you,
And hiding it is a nightmare when there’s someone in the loo,
But I look in the mirror and see I am getting fatter,
It makes me feel in control, but what is the matter?
This all started because someone took the mick,
I am not mental. I am bulimic.

This morning was the happiest of my life, this afternoon was the worst,
No one has died or been murdered, I have just been cursed.
You think I am unpredictable? Well so do I,
One minute I am manically depressed, the next I’m on a high.
As long as I take my medication my life is not over,
I am not mental, I suffer from Bipolar.

Today is a good day the symptoms are mild,
and on days like this you don’t treat me as a child.
Yes I feel vulnerable; frustrated is not the word,
But when I talk, no one listens, I always go unheard.

No I don’t want to talk about it, I am always misunderstood,
No I can’t help myself, I only wish I could.
I know what you’re thinking and no I’m not insane,
I am normal just like you, but the chemicals don’t balance in my brain.

If I broke my arm you would put it in plaster and be kind,
But no one can see this fracture, how will you fix my mind?