We are not weak,
us who are mentally ill,
though some think so.
We fight battles unseen.
Dozens or hundreds by the day.
We wage wars unknown.
We have losses,
but also wins.
We can take arms,
over something so little,
as walking out the front door.
And yet we do.
We go to work.
We raise children
We survive.
We are invisible warriors,
and our wins,
no matter how small,
outweigh our losses.
We should be proud,
in what we do,
and what we have to do,
to do it.
Doctors and therapy.
Pharmacists and medication.
We learn, adapt, and grow.
Some people never do.
Imagine if the illness lifted.
If suddenly we found ourselves free.
Our accomplishments,
our energy,
would change the world,
for the better.
Take pride, survive, and fight.
That day may come.
With hope we will carry on,
because we are not weak.
We are strong.
Poetry
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