The Road to Finding Myself

I’m heading down the highway toward mental health,

A road less traveled—it has often been hell.

It’s not a one-pill quick fox, a reduced, numb coma,

But twelve steps of recovery through thirty years of trauma.

From one to three, then four, perhaps even six,

The magnitude of my diagnosis.

“Knock, knock, who’s there?”

You say I should know,

Yet I don’t recognize you anymore.

I’m living in my personal upside-down,

Where smiles look like frowns.

Tell me, can I still be found