I want them to understand. I want them all to know how i feel, so someone can help me. Rescue me, before it’s too late. Before I fall too far down this hole. This black abyss of nothingness.
But I can’t talk to anyone about something like this. Besides, I already know how it would turn out. I can already hear the hushed silences every time i walk into a room. I can see their big fake smiles, full of pity. I can feel the stiff embraces, the hugs of compassion they would try and give me, thinking pity is what i wanted, what i needed.
But that’s not what I’m asking for. I just want someone to come in and give me something real; something genuine. Something that will pull me out; something that will save me from myself.
But it has to be by chance. They can’t know what their doing, that would inevitably bring forth the pity, the commiseration, the solicitude.
So they can’t understand. They can’t know how I feel. They can’t help me.
They just have to rescue me, before it’s too late.