When my mother got depressed
She could not get out of bed
She just laid there like a lox
Refused to eat
She thought she had cancer
She knew she was dying, that’s how bad she felt
Even came to terms with imminent death
When the doctor told her she was fine
She snarled at him
He showed her the tests, the x-rays, the labs
Oh she said reluctantly
The doctor suggested a psychiatrist who in turn
Suggested a chemical imbalance in my mother’s brain
Caused her lack of vigor
He recommended a pill to take
Together with a course of psychotherapy.
So she got out of bed
And resumed eating
After a few months of weekly visits to the psychiatrist
In which she made up stories and never revealed a truth
(I lie to him, she told me)
She declared herself cured.
But for the next thirty years she took the pill
Just to make sure her brain stayed okay.