I no longer want to be friends with depression or anxiety.
They hold me down, like anchors tied to a boat.
Except I am the boat and the anchors are tied to my ankles and I can\'t see sunlight anymore.
I can only feel my lungs screaming for air.
I guess that\'s better than feeling nothing.
I don\'t feel anything most days.
Sometimes when I can\'t feel anything all I can will myself to do is stare at a wall.
Other days I can\'t get myself out of bed so I lie there so still that sometimes I think I can feel the world spinning.
Other days I feel everything.
My body quakes and sobs because the sadness in me has stopped being quiet and it\'s now screaming.
My sadness eats me from the inside out.
I don\'t want to be friends with my sadness anymore but it\'s made a home out of me.
I am like a house except my foundation has cracked, my windows are broken, and my carpet is stained.
I am a house that nobody wants to buy.
I am not fixable.
People ask me, \"What\'s wrong?\" and I can\'t form words.
Because nothing is wrong.
Nothing is wrong with me damnnit.
Why does everyone think there is something wrong with me?
I do not want my sadness, I don\'t want my depression, and I don\'t want my anxiety.
I am not my sadness, I am not my depression, and I am not my anxiety.