I don’t remember the last time someone really, truly, genuinely wanted to hear my complaints, worries, and situations. I don’t remember any time someone did care, actually. Everyone comes to me, though. I listen, interpret, digest everyone’s rants. I give thoughtful feedback filled with real interest. Anytime I want to rant to a good friend, my problems are not important, and my worries are worthless. And if they don’t say that, they reply with a dry statement. "OK. It’ll be fine. Lol wow." It makes me feel annoying and pitiful. So I keep my complaints to a minimum. When I feel that slight tingle of disinterest in my victim I chose to talk to, I cut myself off and ask, “Enough about me. What about you? Tell me your problems.” I guess this is why I always keep my feelings kept in a container. Once it becomes too full, it eats me alive until it has broken free.

The littlest things irritate me. Small, normal reactions of my peers hit me with big blows. I want to go home, so I can mentally start a war with myself in peace. Maybe my parents can help with their daily frustrations and insults toward me. My friends can contribute as well. They can ask me what’s wrong but not care. I feel empty. It’s been like this for days. Months. Years. Why do I try and open up when people around me do not? Are these not my close friends? My best friends? My frustrations are small things I blow out of proportion. Many people around me know the way my mind works but no one sticks with me until the end. It always ends up being me. By myself. Alone. Ha. Takes me all my life to understand that and I will foolishly try to find a shoulder to lean on when everyone around me is turning their backs, shaking their heads.

I remember I tried to talk to one of my "friends" I thought I could talk to about anything and not worry about them shunning me. But this day they did. I just finished an argument. It was one of the worst ones yet. She brutally insulted me. It was horrible. I cried and cried. Dried pillows to damp. From damp to dry and damp again. I texted this "friend." I searched for comfort. Yearned for it. And my request was declined.

“Oh. Lol. It will be OK.”

Lol? Oh? My cave now getting deeper. My container now getting fuller. I rebutted.

“She hurt me. I’m so upset. I cant think. Help me please.” I pleaded. I entreated.

“You’re just overthinking it. It is not a big deal.”

The echo of the door of my vulnerability closing. I’m just overthinking. I’m just being stupid. I couldn’t believe there was no one I could turn to. I walked to the end of my cave. Sat down. Leaned on the ragged wall and embraced the pain of the rocks pelting my skin from the ceiling. It cause physical damage on me as I accepted the job of mentally hurting myself. There’s no one to talk to. No one who cares. No one I can open up to.

Sounds familiar?