Turned 24 this September,
Didn’t think I’d make it out of last December.
Got a new therapist, same two meds,
Mom says, “You’re getting better,” but I just nod instead.
I don’t drink now, just scroll till four,
Eat when I remember, sleep when I’m bored.
Three years at BNA, that’s something, right?
Then poof — gone in the middle of the night.
And these nurses aren’t my friends,
But I still text them sometimes when it gets bad again.
Every rehab roommate moved on fine,
I’m still here refreshing jobs online.
Happy birthday, me, 24 and free
That’s what people say when they don’t mean it.
I got debt, regret, and a decent playlist.
If I disappear, just say I “made it.”
I laugh, I cry, it’s all the same
The punchline’s me, and it’s always lame.
Got a plant, tried journaling twice,
Wrote, “Feeling okay,” then crossed it out… nice.
Moved back home, yeah, rent’s a crime,
But I’d pay anything to feel like I’m on time.
My friends have jobs and real careers,
I’ve got trauma and unpaid bills and fears.
I say, “I’m writing again,” like that explains
The silence and the growing pains.
Every song I start sounds like a prayer,
Half a joke, half a dare.
If God’s still watching, what’s He think?
Another chorus, another drink.
Happy birthday, me, 24 and free
That’s what people say when they don’t mean it.
I got debt, regret, and a decent playlist.
If I disappear, just say I “made it.”
I laugh, I cry, it’s all the same
The punchline’s me, and it’s always lame.
I swear I tried, I did my best.
But every day feels like a test
I didn’t study for, I’m late to class.
The clock is running, I can’t get past.
I look in mirrors, look away.
Some kid I knew just died today.
I think about calling, then I don’t.
Some days I swear, and some days I won’t.
Twenty-four, what a joke, what a year,
Still here, still tired, still unclear.
They say it gets better, maybe it does
But if it doesn’t, that’s just because
