They will never truly understand me. They will never take me seriously. They will forever think I’m just looking for attention or blowing things out of proportion or that I’m dramatic or lazy or weak or all of the above.
And there is nothing I can do to change that.
This is why people like me suffer in silence. It’s why I sometimes don’t bother talking at all.
What’s the point when no one is going to understand?
What’s the point when they’re just going to tell me to snap out of it or to just do something about it?
What’s the point when they’re just going to tell me I must not want it bad enough.
What’s the point when they don’t know how to deal with me so rather than ask what I need, they just ignore me?
They don’t understand.
They have no idea how frustrating it is to want something desperately but be incapable of doing a fucking thing about it—not to try and fail, but to not even *be able* to try.
I’m not just lazy and I do want it bad enough.
They have no idea how painful it is to watch how easy things are for others when even the simplest things are akin to moving mountains for me.
They have no idea how it feels to be right there yet not even be acknowledged.
They have no idea how lonely it is when you’re someone like me. How lonely it is in my head. It’s so god damn crowded in there, but so fucking lonely. Even when they’re all around me, I’m lonely as fuck.
They have no idea.
When I say I can’t do something, that means I literally cannot do it. It doesn’t mean I choose not to. It means it’s not a choice for me at all. It just is.
They dismiss me, act like they don’t think my issues are real. They push me aside as though I’m just not worth it. They’re probably right.
I’m not like them. I’m not normal.
I fucking know I’m not normal.
This… all of this… is why I’m always on the sidelines, never truly involved in what’s going on. I’m separate from them. I don’t fit in.
When I try to talk to them about it, they ignore me. I know they don’t intend to be cruel. I know they just don’t know how to deal with me. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.
They don’t understand.
They never will.
It’s why I keep it to myself most of the time [and when I don’t keep it to myself, I regret not keeping it to myself]. It’s why I don’t feel a part of anything. It’s why I’m on my own. Always alone. Always lonely.
So fucking lonely.
p.s. — I need you, Mr. Sexy Arms [face, beard, eyes] Beach Guy. But you won’t understand me either. It’s okay. I love you anyway.
[And Mr. Sexy Arms [face, beard, eyes] Beach Guy needs a new name. The current one is too long. And I’m not just going to call him Mike even if that is his real name. I guess I’ll think on this. I could call him Mr. Fuck Me since that’s what I’m thinking every time I look at him. But maybe that’s too… um… blunt? shocking? Hmm.]