Part 1: my anxiety ;

I've never been so angry at the place I've driven myself to.
It's like I've spun off the road into a desert wasteland and instead of turning back, decided to keep driving unconscious, without a compass, into a place I know will not have the capacity to sustain me.
This place feels like rumbling gravel in my lungs and dusty air flushing my cheeks, filling my throat with sand.
It's unkind, it's deteriorating, it's thirsty for the people that used to occupy it,
Peeling off and war torn, begging for a survivor to bring it water.
That's the thing, this place tricks you into giving it all you have.
Instead of using instinct, instead of caring for yourself, It convinces you to give it every inch of your skin, every droplet of water you collect, it convinces you to give it everything that you have that could possibly guarantee your sanity.
The worst part is that you have no-one to validate how you feel except for this place, you have no-one to talk you in or out of things except for where you stand and at this point I'm a walking robot shifting through cactus's in attempt to find fuel for the spot I sit.
It hurts but that doesn't matter because the more pain you feel, the more this place expands and the more you are convinced to carry on the very action that opens your wounds.
With every spine that hits my hand, this place laughs, bellowing down then lifting its head up in a fit of cackles.
The unpleasant sound doesn't have an association. I do not associate my destruction with its pleasure. I instead associate my destruction with my responsibility.
I'm simply the jester and this place is the king.
I'm meant to entertain in any way I can. I'm meant to be a fool, I chose to be a fool.
This place has a messiah complex and I have somehow under its control, become its acolyte.

Part 2: depression and anxiety, save me complex ;

He's cold and from the moment he got here, the pelting sun turned into hail. The storm has come and I can't tell if he's a mirage or a physical being, either way he could be a savior. I hope he's capable of becoming a martyr advocating for my narcissism because I know this place will tie at least one of us down, only by choice, letting one escape. Although this place is familiar, although this place has grown on me, it has grown on me like Ivy on a tree, suffocating me and reaching the depths of my roots until I am paralyzed in its grasp. I need him to take my place, I need him to dig me up and slide into my position, no matter how broken my branches are, no matter how easy it looks to let me crumble.  I just need to find a way to convince him that it should be me and not him. That someday someone will take his place like he took mine. That he should suffer and throw out his immediate instinct to survive. Maybe to do this, I have to work with this place in a different way. Instead of manipulating my own resources into making me hallow, I have to manipulate his into making him a corpse of who he thinks he is. He must become the jester and I must become the queen. I have become apart of this place and i have come to understand that this place takes away complexity. Now that I am no longer complex, now that I am married and bound to the creator of where I'm held captive, this place is craving another person to create into a ghost and I know I will be set free in the process.