'The worst type of cry, is the silent cry. The way I curl up in a ball. With my arms wrapped around my knees. Grabbing and holding so tightly as I struggle to find courage to wake up tomorrow morning knowing it will be exactly like today. I grab my legs like I want someone to hold me, tight and suffocating, never letting go. Just as my depression holds me, always reminding me of every failure, every person I have ever hurt. These thoughts follow me every second of my day. This cry is a cry for help, only it is silent because words can never truly express the years of pain behind my eyes. No one will ever truly love me. Love every flaw. So I learn to fall in love with my depression because it was the only true person that ever fully excepted me. And depression has always been there for me. The countless showers against my bathtub, the imprint my body has left behind. The countless days screaming into my pillows and sobbing so hard I can not feel the back of throat any more. Who was there for me in those times and loves me still, depression. So when I say I'm fine, I mean I'm in love with my illness because its always been there, but I feel this way because of it. The restless nights I stay up comforted by the empty side of my bed, so I talk to depression about every problem. And I pick apart every single detail about my day, how I could have done better and why I will always not be good enough. I thought I learned how when my mom left to turn lonely into busy, so when I tell my friends I can't go to that super fun party tonight because I am busy, I mean I plan on binge watching The Simpson's eating my feelings, with nothing to show for except an empty gallon of ice cream and a spoon. And I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you when you were crying over your breakup, I was just fighting every demon that told me to end my life tonight and you look at me like I'm selfish. Yes im selfish, if selfish is trying to make it through another day of living, I am so sorry I'm selfish. Why i can't talk to you is because you make me feel like a burden, and then you put your problems on me again. So you say go to therapy. Therapist look at me like I'm crazy as I try to pour 15 years of trauma into one hour. Im sorry there will never be enough words that will ever express the way my mind tricks me into making another cut. Its just one more it says. As my life goes down the drain just as the blood drains from my arms the water drains from my bath. Leaving me in my bathtub once again with only tears.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem