A legal high

For those in pain and it will not surrender,
You try other options to avoid the street sender.
For when it comes, it comes without timing,
And the horror you feel is increasing and climbing.
You wish that you could put a gun to your head,
Rather than feel pain, it'd be better to be dead.
And who would have thought something simple as this,
Would lead to a mess, a stigma; a diss.
When the pain, it was double, the only relief,
Was to get on the stage and act the big chief.
So now look at the mess that this whole thing has caused,
Your body an existential mess on the floor.
You stay in your bed and you try not to weep,
You wished that it was a permanent sleep.
For nobody likes a moaner, you see,
You rock up for laughs and the weekend party.
But the pain that you felt, was the bear with sore head.
How can something like this make you want to be dead?
And when it was taken a euphoria came,
But nobody wants to know what you can blame.
And so investigatory work it now must continue,
To find the answer is natural, it's something within you.
But the pros in this field, they don't have a clue,
For they study their books and don't live as you do.
So you wait and you wait, treading water-like mud,
And the help that has come, couldn't but should.
And things have spiralled out of all control,
You stumble to walk like the clownish young fowl,
But the strength you have, you must again try and muster,
When you're tired of the fight, and the professional fluster.
So the answer is out there, one day it will come,
But for now, you drop out; what's done has been done.
Now you hide your head in shame and you cry,
The pain has gone, but you still want to die.