don't let it in

the way I sleep in my bed is like a metaphor for my depression  
my depression is normally on edge    
on the brink of either    
dissipating or killing myself    
i can't think of a time when there    
was an in between with it,    
when I was younger I used to call    
a bottle of vodka a cure for my depression    
she nodded her head excitedly,    
ready for me to dig deep with    
that bottle of vodka    
which was always there,    
   
there was always vodka.    
my depression talks a lot,    
too much if anyone asked.    
she makes life complicated    
which I believe my personality enjoys,    
she encourages destructive behavior.    
tells me it’s okay even though    
my anxiety screams at me,    
they’ve always fucking clashed    
its like siblings, it’s like when two people    
want two different things but one of them    
is more convincing than the other.    
my body is a carnival for my mental illnesses

they ride up and down in the veins in my heart,    
they run circles around my brain,    
they play with the cords in my wrist,    
they make my ankles weak    
and my knees clank together.    
   
i can't remember when I wasn't like this,    
i can't remember when my anxiety wasn't always screaming at me,    
i can't remember when my depression wasn't encouraging    
me to cut deeper, to take more pills, to drink a little more.    
i can't remember the last time I was happy as a kid,    
not drugged or drunk happy, not happy off the adrenaline    
because I cut so deep you could pull it open and see the inside,    
or because I was so high I couldn't feel anything,    
genuinely happy and smiling.    
i don't think I know how to be happy anymore    
without a substitute    
its killing me and my depression is feeding off it,    
she gets bigger by the day.    
I’m terrified.