Alone on My Seesaw

Always on edge, careful monitoring, mood charts
Afraid that my emotions aren't real, so out of whack
 
Each smile and laugh recorded, am I just sad or is it something more
My wife on edge, the nurse only missing her clipboard
 
To wrestle in silence, keep things in balance
Afraid to be honest with others, myself
 
"Have you ever considered suicide?", rehearsed reply
Avoid the truth, afraid of the consequences
 
Hearing all the jokes, so easily made, so hurtful
"Where's my happy pills", "He's whacko", "Nut job"
 
Trips to the doctor, appointments for counseling
Sitting in the waiting room, hope I don't get spotted
 
Wanting to be fixed, not one more thing wrong with me
Desperately wishing I was the man she fell in love with
 
Questioning myself, questioning everything
Is it just the black dog come to sit at my feet
 
Or perhaps it's just the curse, my writer's gift
As Papa said so often at Sloppy Joe's before the shotgun
 
Does it make me a better writer, put me more in touch
Amplify my feelings so that they reach my very soul
 
Lots of questions, expressing feelings, still ...
No aha insights, clear breakthroughs, a cure
 
So, here I sit in my own little playground
Round and round on merry-go-round, alone on my seesaw