Bloodstained Memory

I wish I could break out of this mental barrier I have created. I wish I no longer had to hold onto my depression for a sense of security. I wish I did not feel the need to cry as much as I do. Inside my head is where I live, my thoughts thrown askew, and my memories stained with crimson regret. I pick them up to try to see the good in every bloodstained photograph but they all just fill me with pain. Why? I have people who love me and who cherish me and I see them in my head, trying to break past the barrier that I created years ago, so no one could come in any longer and leave more bloodstained photographs. Everything seems so out of reach here, I try to reach up towards the glimmering light, the closer I get the further away it moves. At what point is it enough? When should the broken girl decide to just stay broken?