Inner conflict.

I wish I could let myself feel it.
The reality that you care.
How you told me to trust that you mean it.

I'm so tired and confused,
and tired of being confused.
You're convinced letting others help
will make a huge difference,
but I combat you, again.
Won't it be pointless, a waste of time
and resources and compassion,
if I get help when not being totally receptive to it -
a self-fulfilling prophecy?

I don't know where this leaves me.
I am an empty husk, unable to remember
the last time I had this little joy,
because usually I am able to hold on
for the little things that get me through the day.

What do I do?
How can I possibly trust others with this
when I don't know the outcome?
When I don't know if I'll feel better afterwards?
Or if it will catapult me back to square one,
and I have to keep trying and trying
despite utter exhaustion.

You said depression isn't simply a lack
of pleasure or enjoyment in regular things;
it's feeling the despair and dread
regardless of what you try.

You tell me to think about what you've said,
and I do, don't you know I do?
I almost reach out, multiple times,
but the shame and guilt eat at me.
I don't want anyone to know.
I don't want to have to work on things again.

Sometimes it's easier to sink in your own misery,
to flail around in the endless miles of mud,
then to ask for help and let yourself be helped.