That Was My Mental Illness Talking, Not Me

A smile, one with too many teeth. Finger guns and a wink. I've blurted something out again that was and wasn't me.

No one laughs. It was and wasn't a joke.

There are too many contradictions, I know.

I rush to cover up my mistake. Trembling, tripping over words to get their attention off what I've just said.

"How many therapists does it take to change a light bulb?"

Indulgent, fake fake fake smiles. Not endeared, but polite.

They hate me.

"Only one! But the light bulb has to want to change!"

A forced laugh, nervous in the straight faces of the others. They nod slowly, dismiss me and jump to the next topic naturally.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

Why did I think-no, I didn't think, that's the thing.

God, if you're up there, strike me down, please.