...and I...

...and I was hoping I could...

call you to say that,

I'm not ok.

That

no matter what you taught me

growing up,

I

have these feelings,

these

emotions that,

no matter what I do,

I can't get past.

I can't over

come

closer to me,

please and,

sit and,

listen and,

just

be with me.

...and I was hoping you would...

say "It will be ok"

whether or not

you were sure and,

whether or not you had

the answers.

That you would be right there

to sit

with me,

to be

with me,

to share space and exist

with me,

but you didn't,

instead you said:

"you have so much to live for"

"look at what you have created"

"I wish I had done as much as you by your age"

"you should pray to..."

God

I wish you would stop.

...and I remember feeling...

broken,

like I was the problem,

unseen,

like glass was my father,

unheard,

like deaf was the standard,

unfelt,

like wandering in the darkness,

untitled,

like conversations in the wind.

Crying was all I could think to do,

wishing you saw me

different,

the way I am and not,

the way you

wished me to be.

Sinking,

was the deeper I found myself doing,

into my loneliness,

my

a-lone-liness,

further from the me

I wanted to be

that

you would rather talk to.

...and I knew it wasn't you...

that I should have called that day,

not because of what you said,

but because what I needed

was

understanding,

patience,

trust,

your love,

and what I got was

your judgement

of

how I should feel,

your prescriptions

for

how I should hold myself,

your experiences

of

how you coped.

And I feel the kind of

better that

isn't really better

or

isn't any deeper than

a puddle is

shallow,

yet still,

deep water

enough for

drowning.

...and I was wondering if...

you would read this

maybe and,

change just a little

and,

understand that

yes,

we ARE all going

through,

but we AREN'T all

making it.

Some of us are like

the cobblestones

in a path

loosened from the

cement that held us,

rolled off to the side

the grass,

the dirt,

the forgotten,

the lost

and,

spiraling downward like

water to a drain

until there's nothing

left to

give,

until it has all been

given.

Until there is

nothing.

...and I was hoping you would stop me...