I sometimes feel completely alone in this world.
No matter what people say, what they’ve been through, I feel like they can’t possibly know how I feel, that they can’t really start to comprehend.
Stupid, I know.
Of course people understand. They understand how they feel, how they’ve felt. But for someone to understand exactly how you feel at an exact point… the odds are pretty impossible, let’s face it.
Today, for example. I’ve wanted to reach out to people so much. I’m in a very dark pit. I feel lost. I’m still planning suicide. I’ve wanted to reach out.
I haven’t until about two hours ago because I didn’t feel anyone would either understand or take me seriously. The last response I had from them was exactly 60 minutes ago: 1955.
I don’t want to be on my own. I’m scared of being left. I’m crying thinking about waking up tomorrow. I’m crying at the thought of reaching out to the next person who I feel could best understand. I’m crying because I’m feeling ignored.
Do they realise that? Probably not, which isn’t their fault. They don’t know that an hour of silence is as damning as a death sentence right now. They can’t know, because they cannot feel exactly as I do. But it’s still happening, and I can’t point it out because they have their life to live – I can’t demand it from them.
So I stay silent. Silent with tears falling from my eyes, playing with the rope that in the near future could end up choking the life out of me. I feel lost, abandoned, hopeless, dark… lifeless.
That is how I feel.
I do not blame people for not understanding or realising – times like this I’m sure as hell glad that they don’t, yet a selfish part of me, the most selfish part that exists, wants to transfer it to them just for five minutes. Just so they understand.
Even thinking that makes me an awful person. Believe me, if I had the big red button to do just that I wouldn’t press it.
I just want someone to be there.