Nobody really wants to hear about it when I'm down.
They edge away, find other things to do, don't call back. I'm not sure why.
Maybe they're afraid of Saying Something Wrong, messing things up. "You should talk to a professional about this."
But I'm not asking for someone to fix my life for me. I'm an adult; I know that's not how it works.
Suck it up, put on the big girl panties, grow a thicker skin, I can do all that. Usually.
Maybe they're afraid I'll ask too much. Absorb their limited time and energy and give nothing back.
They've got their own problems after all, some bigger than mine.
I don't know. I'd like to think that what I offer is worth more than what I ask, but I can't tell.
I can't tell.
Is it too much?
To want a little time, a pair of ears, a chance to be understood?
I swear I'd offer the same in return if ever it were needed.
Maybe I pushed people away at the wrong times, and they think I'll do it again.
If I did I'm so sorry.
For me there is no worse feeling than knowing I've hurt someone else.
Even loneliness is better. Number. Self-contained.
So if I did I'm sorry.
Maybe I've covered up too well, kept people from seeing.
Too scared to be vulnerable.
(Because that's the second-worst feeling, being vulnerable.)
Too scared that people will edge away, find other things to do, not call back.
Self-fulfilling prophecy, that.
Maybe people think I don't need, when all the while I sit here, too paralyzed to say