Leave Too Soon

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She weighs on me, like a comfortable blanket. She brings warmth to my day, a rest to my heart. She shelters me from the insults of my own head. but sometimes, she weighs more than a blanket. Her weight is more than my restless depression, my anxiety. Way more than my loneliness and my need for attention and love. She weighs more than the boulder of guilt that crushes me when she says I'm not around enough. I leave too soon. Each time, each day. (Everyone wants something from me. I'm sorry if that affects you.) I say, like she’s not crushing and cracking my heart in two. Like I'm aggravated rather than numbed to the core. She wants to leave. I can tell. She wants to go away from the hurt. She also wants to stay with me, but there is no possible way she could do both. Because Hurt and Me are the same person. They both live inside this disgustingly functioning body of mine. Breathe in and out, like you’re not trying to drown.