What I Wish You Knew

In my darkest (and not so darkest) hours there are things I cannot say.
It’s not because I physically can’t. It’s because I am afraid to. If they are spoken out loud they become real. If they stay inside they are only my demons to deal with.
So, when I can’t say what I need to, this is what I wish you knew:
How hard it is to drag myself out of bed each morning
How much it hurts to move
That even though I’m smiling, I am probably empty inside
That I am not lazy
That I am not making excuses
That asking me how I am does not come across as you think it does
That I need help with almost everything
That making decisions can be debilitating
That washing my hair seems like a monumental task
That when I’m quiet, I’m hurting
That when I’m loud, I’m hurting
When I chew the skin around my nails, I am really really anxious
Sometimes it’s all just too much
That I am not mad at you
That I know you want to help, but I feel like such a tremendous burden
My anger and frustration is not directed at you
That I need time alone to decompress
My brain makes me think I’m a failure
Even when I try, and succeed, I feel guilty
When I say I need to go home, I do, badly
That being around crowds can be paralyzing
That hopelessness is always nipping at my heals
That medication doesn’t make it all go away
That I don’t feel brave, or strong
I’m crying because I am frustrated, not sad
How exhausting it is to just be
Fighting this is hard, so hard
That most days, all I want to do is sleep
How much I hate this