Years ago I worked with a woman who was diagnosed with a mental illness. I lost contact with her when she moved to another state. However, she left this poem:
Father, why do I try so hard to be more than I am?
Am I so unhappy having limitations…
Knowing I am weak…
I try to impress…say, “I’m fine”…
busy myself with activity…give advice…
or pretend to answer any questions.
I am like a china doll, tottering on the shelf of life.
Father, let me be a rag doll…
Worn with love, knowing it can’t stand alone,
An easy listener, comfortable to be with, whose
Bent is simply toward being a rag doll.
When they fall,
Yet they can’t stand up
They are held.
Please Father, please just hold me.