not all broken hearts bleed the same

when our depression and anxiety eat us alive

Why do we hurt so badly on the inside? We can feel our broken hearts sink deeper and deeper as days pass. We get sucked into this void of endless thoughts which prevent us from sleeping and we give in to our depression. Our bones ache with the lack of support we desire. We desire so much more, but as always, we're left wishing for the impossible. We desire the human touch on our skin. We're desperate for someone to hug us with passion, and tell us "Everything will be okay". But what are we so afraid of? Maybe we're terrified of open spaces, where anyone and everyone can judge every little thing on what we do. Or maybe we're scared of our own homes. The ones we've lived in for years might seem safe, but you can't even leave your room without those demons following you. Perhaps we're not scared of anything but ourselves. Maybe we're the monsters. Maybe we're the nightmares we dream of at night when we finally get the chance to sleep. We'd barricade ourselves in our bedroom because maybe you were afraid of lashing out on mom and dad. Or maybe we were afraid of the way we think of ourselves. Our depression is a part of us, and might always be. It's the deep pit we feel in our stomach as our hearts sink deeper and deeper. And don't even get me started on the anxiety. The endless thoughts and "What if's". It never ends because you're afraid of giving up. Your depression might want you to finally pull the trigger, but your anxiety is worried about what sorts of burdens you'll bring upon people. Even if you're dead or alive, you're still going to cause problems. Meanwhile, your heart is unresponsive because it's sunken too deep, and only a miracle could save you. Not even you can save yourself from what's a part of you. And you know damn well nothing is going to burst through that door anytime soon. Not a single hand insight is there to lift you up from your coffin. You're already buried with so much weight on your shoulders, might it all be lifted away with the satisfaction of knowing you let your depression win? You let your demons get to you because that's all you're ever good for. Isn't that what we think about? Isn't the job for our anxiety is to keep us guessing? Maybe it'll all go away now that we're dead. Now that nothing is flowing through our veins, and not a single drop of serotonin can be found within. Maybe now we've silenced our demons and whatnot. Was it all worth it? Knowing we could've saved ourselves, but chose to pull the trigger? Our hollow bodies finally get the break we've longed for. Our minds can't comprehend anything because we're breathless.