Paranoid Personality Disorder.

Those words made my insides recoil
Sitting in the therapist’s office eight months ago,
Tapping my fingers together in chaotic rhythm

I didn’t believe there was a problem.

I didn’t believe there was a problem! Disorder.

Despite the spastic nerves in my neck,

And the reluctance to tell my friends what the doctor suggested,

My mind tells me their words are infected

What do they really mean?

What do they really mean? Disorder.

Positivity comes with a catch,

My fear of deception is something no one can match,

With paranoia the ability to trust has been shattered

But why worry? They ask. They say “just relax”.

I can’t even relax! Disorder.

I can’t take a compliment to heart because I spend

Twenty minutes decoding it

Twenty more overthinking it
One more deeming it a lie.

Most people who suffer under the clutches of PPD
Go unnoticed or unseen

Blending themselves into a society
That would shrink them down to a word,

Weird. Sensitive. Spaz.

Then what is it, Jillian?
What’s the fix?
I would offer a solution, but

Most of us won’t believe it.