In my darkest (and not so darkest) hours there are things I cannot say.

It’s not because I physically can’t. It’s because I am afraid to. If they are spoken out loud they become real. If they stay inside they are only my demons to deal with.

So, when I can’t say what I need to, this is what I wish you knew:

• How hard it is to drag myself out of bed each morning
• How much it hurts to move
• That even though I’m smiling, I am probably empty inside
• That I am not lazy
• That I am not making excuses
• That asking me how I am does not come across as you think it does
• That I need help with almost everything
• That making decisions can be debilitating
• That washing my hair seems like a monumental task
• That when I’m quiet, I’m hurting
• That when I’m loud, I’m hurting
• When I chew the skin around my nails, I am really really anxious
• Sometimes it’s all just too much
• That I am not mad at you
• That I know you want to help, but I feel like such a tremendous burden
• My anger and frustration is not directed at you
• That I need time alone to decompress
• My brain makes me think I’m a failure
• Even when I try, and succeed, I feel guilty
• When I say I need to go home, I do, badly
• That being around crowds can be paralyzing
• That hopelessness is always nipping at my heals
• That medication doesn’t make it all go away
• That I don’t feel brave, or strong
• I’m crying because I am frustrated, not sad
• How exhausting it is to just be
• Fighting this is hard, so hard
• That most days, all I want to do is sleep
• How much I hate this