No one understands, and that stings.

People don’t want to hear my problems – they flinch, they look away, they wait for the conversation to shift. My pain is a nuisance, an unwelcome guest they won’t entertain.

When it comes down to it, no one gives a damn. I’m not worth the effort. I see it in their eyes, in the hollow responses, in the silence that stretches too long. Knowing that – really knowing it – is the deepest cut, the kind that never stops aching.

I wish there were an easy way out. Something quick, clean. No mess, no pain, no regrets. Just a quiet exit, leaving nothing behind, slipping out like I was never here.

But I don’t. I choke it down, bury it deep, swallow every scream until it rots inside me. I pretend to be okay, to be fine, to be functional. I try so damn hard to act like I don’t feel what’s killing me.