It was always me

It’s strange.

How you can know someone 

But never really know them.

Barely even scratch the surface.

Barely see their pain.

It’s hard.

Trying to know what it feels like,

To imagine.

We can never know.

We can never know what it feels like to be someone else, let alone how their brain works or their definition of pain.

It’s weird how people see what they want to.

They don’t care enough to notice.

They don’t care enough to see,

To know,

To sympathise,

To pity;

To feel sorry for you.

People assume that if you voice your pain, you merely want attention.

You just want someone to feel sorry for you.

For some people, that may be.

But, for a lot of people, that isn’t the case.

The pain eats away at you,

Drives you insane.

Slowly rids you of the parts of you, you thought made you, you.

It builds up walls.

It’s scary.

It builds them up to the point of you feeling like you’re about to explode.

To the point of you needing to tell someone,

But you don’t

Because you don’t want their pity.

You don’t want their fear.

You’d rather suffer alone.

Have it only hurt you.

Silent screams don’t get heard.

Fake smiles don’t get noticed.

A broken person, merely forgotten.

For no one is looking.

They shouldn’t have to.

It isn’t their fault.

It’s mine.

It is of my own doing.

I mean, yours.

Your doing.

You.

All of you.

Heck.

You are all happy to watch.

No.

To do nothing.

.

It’s me.

Not you.

This is me.

This is my story.

Reviews

[Unforgiven Guy]

Well, I think you have to let someone try to help some time. Usually nobody wants to, but occasionally someone will.

[Heather]

Meh, I'm the sort of person who never asks for help or accepts it, maybe someday I'll change.