They care, do they?

Hello stranger,

I do hope you’ll forgive yet another pointless eyesore distracting from your conversations.  That’s all I expect most of you to read anyway, so feel free to disregard the rest of this rant.

The few times I manage to click on Publish instead of Move to Trash I question what good it did.  How can I expect a perfect stranger to give two shits about what I have to say when the people I’ve know for years don’t?  The truth is that I don’t.  I don’t know why I continue to try.

I’ve lurked in the shadows long enough to know that there are a few of the members here who say they care about the random people who post on here, but I doubt there’s much truth in those empty statements.  I wonder if the email address you give is even real, or what you would do if somebody was so desperate to be heard that they tried to contact you.  Mostly I wonder what would make you care about someone like me when nobody else does.

I’ve had more than my fair share of people feigning concern over me to last the rest of my days.  When my own father learnt of my depression and suicidal plans he said he cared.  He even went so far as to remove all the guns from the house.  I do know he was concerned.  Concerned that if he did nothing people would see what he was, concerned that his “less than legal” weapons might be used in a way that got them taken from him.  True concern for me would have been to pick up the phone to check if I’d knocked myself off over the last 3 days being left home alone.

My friends are also talented at keeping up the public persona of caring about me.  My Facebook page has just enough posts along the lines of “I’m here if you need to talk” to bring a tear to your eye.  However, when I look at my phone do you know what I see?  Not a single message asking how I’m doing, but plenty of messages that say they can’t talk now.

I could tell you about my “friend”, I can’t call her my “girlfriend” because she doesn’t like the labels.  She’s the only person I know who would truly be able to relate with how I feel because of her own history.  I’m the only person who will listen to her problems, but that doesn’t leave much room for my own.  I know all too well how that feels to force my life upon her.

So that leaves the strangers on here.  By now they’ve probably whittled down to nobody, leaving me talking to myself.  Somebody else who doesn’t care.