What Happens After You?

Heavy, Empty, Deafening.

I feel so heavy. Do you ever feel heavy? On your heart, on your soul? On your fucking everything, because even your body feels it too. My depression is a wall in my mind and an anchor on everything else. It weighs everything down. And it doesn't just affect me. It weighs down everything. It hurts. It hurts to walk around with this ball and chain. Sometimes it pulls me down so low that it feels like it'll never let up again. And when it does, it's temporary, and then suddenly I'm being pulled under the water again. It feels like I haven't taken a real breath in years. Even though I know I have. There are moments where life is fucking beautiful, and I'm breathing and it's so goddamn amazing. But the heaviness outweighs that shit. Because those moments are so small that they're gone as soon as they're there, and afterward, I don't even remember what they feel like. The ball and chain are so heavy that I forget what it's like to appreciate something like that.

I feel so sick. Do you ever feel sick? In your stomach, in your heart? All the way through to your fucking soul? Do you ever get up at 3 am after trying to sleep for hours and finally giving up because you just feel so sick? So much like sleep isn't even worth the tossing and turning anymore? Even though you love it? My anxiety is deafening. My anxiety is heart wrenching. My anxiety is sickening. It affects every part of my being. And it's so painful. It's so painful that my anxiety is why I cry in the middle of the night, not my loss. So painful, and always there. So much so, that I've learned to just live with it, all the time, everyday, and not let it affect what I do, until it's time to go to sleep. And every loss, every heartache, it only excels it. That's why I'm here. My anxiety is empty. It's so deafening and so silencing that it's empty. Empty because no matter how much I scream, those screams will never see the light.

My anxiety is why I drink. My anxiety is why I throw my shit away. I always say it's my depression. My depression is what weighs me down. My depression is what hurts. That's true. But you know what's more painful? Not feeling good enough. Ever. Never feeling like anything can be good, because it never is. There's always a catch. And it's always the anxiety. Always feeling empty. Always feeling dull. Just letting your life slip away because you're too afraid to do anything about it. Being afraid all the time. Second guessing everything you say. Living your life fucking terrified. And then taking that out on everyone you love. Everyone who loves you. That is fucking painful.