Hollywood would hate my depression

My depression doesn't make for a great film adaptation
My lips bleed too much for that
My wrist covered in raised slashes of burns aren't screen worthy
My eyes are too red, too bloodshot from my tears for a camera to care
My lips puff up but not in a sexy way, ya know?
It's in a "I'm gripping onto sanity with nail like claws" way
I don't lay sobbing in soft, sweet little coughs
I sob with the rage of a hailstorm
Metal music slamming against my body
As the sobs break out of my mouth like screams
My depression is a shadow monster
Flowing with broken glass and negative self talk
The vision of the sad girl on screen
Touching her perfectly shaped thighs with her inner monologue  
Whispering to herself she is fat
Oh, how I wish I had Hollywood depression
How I would trade All of this for that lie on screen
I would trade the pain living in my veins
The lashing out at friends
The " I only run so I can stop crying,  
You can't keep crying when your gasping for air"
I cant' eat because I throw up every fucking meal when it gets bad
And it has been bad for months
They whisper behind my back that I'm dieting again  
And that's not true
I'm not some Hollywood actress desiring to be skinny
To be lithe and bendable
I am a woman who day dreams about muscles and strength
But my depression binds me to my bed
Telling me how fucking stupid my flesh looks when my feet are both in the air
and when my feet touches the earth my sheer volume moves through my body
I am not this glorious mental health case that Hollywood would love
I am not the depression sung about in songs.  
I am the glass in my chest, the stomach acid in my throat
My depression isn't beauty it is a natural disaster
There are women out there ashamed to talk about their symptoms
Because their depression takes the shape of worms crawling through a corpse
And not the flower wilting under the angry rays of the sun