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