Somewhere over the rainbow, years ago,
Lived a little girl, who went by the name Ingo.
She lived in a land, both safe and free,
Where children still ran and played, open, wild, and free.
She was naughty by nature, in a jovial way,
Asking her questions, by night and by day.
Her first full decade, she loved so much,
Playing soccer, chasing, cycling, and such.
She was loved by her parents, not neglected nor spoiled,
Roaming freely in the fields, not cared for nor toiled.
And then came eleven! BOOM! Fuck that, kid. Happy days are over bee-atch. Ha ha ha. Here sweetie, darling, pet. Have a phobia. I made it just for you. How do you like me now? Beginning of the end, baby. This is strike one. Wait ’til you see what I have in store. Ho ho ho.
She somehow managed, for seven more years,
Although many of those days, were filled up with tears.
Enough of those days were still filled with smiles,
Which made her life bearable, and even worthwhile.
Eighteen. BOOM. Tough shit. Screw you, Ing. Honeymoon’s over. Strike two is here. To. Stay. And. To. Play. Ha ha. Even worse than strike one. This is so funny. You must be super pissed with me! Hee hee hee. Ho ho ho. I present you with… another phobia. Hilarious. I just love fucking with you. Nenee nenee boo boo. You gonna cry? Is poor Ingi Wingy gonna cry?
For the first few year, after that did occur,
She was in pain, every day sucked for her.
Then something good happened, she improved a small bit,
She went to Chicago, felt she could face it.
She wasted her time, for the next few years,
With wine, shots, and drugs, and too many beers.
Then she created a family, in this lovely town,
Three beautiful children, but she was still quite down.
She still drank quite often, to quell her own fears,
Of difficult times, that brought her to tears.
Open heart surgeries, a husband disappear,
He went to get his visa, to allow him come back here.
It followed along, for a little while,
The years rolling in, by inch, foot, and mile.
CRASH. CLANG. SPLASH. Strike three is here motherfuckers! The best trick yet. Can you feel in Ingi Bingi Boo? I am having so much fun screwing up your life. Fucking awesome! Oh my Lord. How can I break it to you? It’s just too much. Too funny. Wait for it… Wait for it… Ta da. You are the winner of the grand prize of… DEPRESSION… ANXIETY… BORDERLINE PERSONALITY DISORDER… I know. I know. I shouldn’t have. No Ingrid. No. No need to thank me. I love you sweetheart. I’d do anything for you… Pfff…
Suicidal thoughts, depression, self harm,
Trying not to cause her family alarm.
No will to be selfish, but in so much pain,
Fighting a beast, with so much to gain.
Back on the psych ward, again and again.
Glimmers of hope, only now and again.
Hurting her family, her husband, her kids,
Will she choose to get better? We’re now taking bids.
So many treatments, and doctors to see.
She should be better, not here for round three.
Taking her pills, doing ECT,
Residential and rounds of PHP.
Darkness has fallen, in Ingrid’s land,
Help her, she needs you, please give her your hand.