I'm not "out there" with my feelings. Unless you somehow force me to tell you how I'm feeling or what I'm thinking, you probably won't ever be able to get it out of me.

I will scale a mountain before I find myself on my knees begging for someone to help me with my problems.

That being said- should I ever find myself at your mercy, spilling to you the thoughts that run wild in my head, I need you to know why.

It isn't that I want your sympathy- I don't. At all. I don't come to you so I can hear you say the same things to me that anybody else would.

"I'm sorry."

"I understand."

"I know how you feel."

Because those things won't fix me. Those words won't stop my demons in their tracks. If I approach you with my problems, that is the loudest you will ever hear me scream. That is me at my weakest and it means that I desperately need your help.

I don't want to hear you tell me that you're sorry I have to feel miserable.

I need you to sweep me up into your arms and let me stumble through the depths of your mind as you tell me stories of the times when you've been where I find myself in that moment.

I don't want you to feel the need to make me strong again. I need you to let me be weak. I need you to me shatter before anyone worries about picking up the pieces or repairing the damage. I need you to leave me with no choice but to gather up my courage as you throw me right back into the world.

Your sympathy does nothing except pull me to the surface of my struggling before shoving me back down under, deeper than where I had been. Your help is the lifeboat that pulls me to safety. Your help forces me to cough up the murky water that's been blocking my lungs, take those first breaths of fresh air that give life to me again, and soak up the bright sun that makes even the darkest, deepest waters glitter as they wave with the wind.

The best thing you could ever do for me would be to remind me to set sail, not to drop my anchor.