I am Judy

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.