It isn’t right to dodge and yield,
And use your disorder as a shield.
To act with malice, cheat, or lie,
Then point to illness as to why.
A get-out-free card for being vile,
Wrapped up in fake regret and guile.
They claim detachment took the wheel,
Their moral compass no longer real.
Dissociation pulls you clear,
It freezes the mind and stills your fear.
It leaves you cold, detached, and grey,
But doesn't wipe commonsense away.
It doesn't guide you down the track,
To breach a trust and not look back.
To scheme, to lie, and then to meet,
Unconscious of your planned deceit.
A puppet guided by its strings,
The perfect excuse for all these things.
Blaming the way that you are built,
Just to absolve yourself of guilt.
As if a mask of feeling numb,
Could strike a person blind and dumb.
To know each action and each thought,
Then play the victim when you're caught.
The mind can shatter, snap, and strain,
And hurl out words to mask the pain.
We lash and trigger, raw and fast,
To strike a blow before we’re cast.
Impulsive rage can break the mind,
Leaving destructive paths behind.
That is the struggle, time after time,
A constant hill we have to climb.
But deliberate acts have conscious weight,
Beyond the symptom and the state.
To hide behind a diagnostic name,
Just feeds the stigma and the shame.
It paints us all as lacking soul,
With no moral code and no control.
So own the choices that you make,
Take accountability, for goodness’ sake.
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