2 of my deepest secrets

The darkest truth I have is

Darker than my depression.

Darker than my anxiety.

The darkest truth I have

I've hidden from everyone.

I hid it from my parents,

I hid it from my therapist,

I hide it under long sleeves.

I started again.

I don't really know why, but I love to see myself bleed.

I can only focus when I'm in pain.

I can only feel a numb bliss when I have slits on my wrist.

But what scares me more,

More than my own scars,

Is that I can watch others cry,

I can see them hurt and upset,

And I cannot care.

I can't bring myself to feel anything.

Before my depression all I felt was

A slight discomfort.

But now I just don't care.

And I have to admit I'm scared.

So there, two birds with one stone. Two of my secrets I never thought I'd make known.