Where do you go when you feel alone and like no one cares you are really there as there are too many others in need. You have painted on a face, a smile for so long, pushed away what is going on as you feel forgotten or no longer important or as though you are heard yet your not, or that what you have to say is anything out-a-long important at all.

Seems understanding for others is always easy to see or feel but when it comes to you, somehow you should be over it or able to get through it yourself. Use your grounding. Talk to your t. I'm sorry as though that is enough. Your forgotten by your children, never being called or hearing from them. And even though you try, no answer, no response. It feels everyone has left, even if they are right there. That feeling that you are alone, even though there are people all around you.

You know they are there, they care or say they care, yet everything is different. Seeing others care about what others go through in the news or even in your life, but there you are and it feels the understanding or feelings for others is much more there and important. And you, you just are. Just because you cannot seem to say what is in your heart or what is screaming in your head, yet outside you are silent, as though you have died.

Feeling you are no longer important or matter, you shut down even more, if that is possible, and you just do what is expected and what you know others want and expect you to do. Like your drifting through life, just drifting, no longer in need of any care or understanding, you already had that chance and should be well. Those words playing over and over in your head as a recording you cannot stop or erase. And you know because it has played so many times before, but this time it is much louder and with more of a fierceness than ever before.

But what no one knows is something within has clicked and you just know what is expected, what is supposed to show and what isn't. And no one understands that you are somewhere locked in this place where you know what and how to be. Hearing constant that recording, and knowing full well it is something expected and known to do.

(Uggg-you cannot even write what you are trying so hard to say. And because of that you just turn away, making even stronger those words within. Why? Because it doesn't matter. You don't really matter. You never really have. You were just a project, now unneeded and unwanted. Now just an old story no longer wanted to be heard.

Just a project-broken, unable to be fixed, unable to be understood, unable to ever fit anywhere, for the puzzle you belonged to was broken at the start, and there is no place for that piece that you are. Reject. Just a reject.)

This place within that has seemed to draw a line in the sand, so to say, that it feels you cannot cross, that people are moving farther and farther away, and your voice is now but a whisper that can no longer be heard. Even through the screams that seem excruciating within to you, there is nothing but silence outside of yourself. Even writing you feel unheard, and like it is a danger that could get to you at any time.

You want to erase or delete the words typed, but somewhere in your heart you know you need someone to know. So you pray somehow it is heard. That somehow you are not really being rejected or unheard, you are just locked in this bubble within, and these words are really escaping through somewhere to get out.

But there seems there is a darkness looming, a place you are hearing no one cares and that you would be better off no longer being. Just dead. No one wants you. No one needs you. You are nothing to anyone. Words you have heard so many times really said to you, words that you tried so hard to tuck away within to stop them from seeping out, words that still speak with a volume that you have never been able to completely turn off.

Your mothers voice, your fathers voice---you know. And you feel small and no longer the old you you have now become. That you have seemed to disappear, yet you must carry on as that part of you so that no one knows you are so small. And you can because you have practiced and practiced-you just know how to be both at the same time.

Now the known words are pushing forth at a volume much fiercer and louder than ever. You never have been able to turn the words off. And even though you have tried, the volume switch doesn't work, and either way you turn that knob, they just get louder and louder. Some have said this same thing before but it is not a game nor is it seeking attention. The words are really there.

And yet, you are screaming out, through this seeping, and wondering if the words are being heard or if it even matters. This is not just a writing; I am not a writer; I am me; I am afraid; and I am hurting. And I am beginning to wonder if there is any hope. Any answer. Anyway out. And I have tried to give it to God, to pray. Please don't push that on me. That in and of itself is a trigger and something I fear. Please I beg you don't.

And I do pray, silently, I already do. Maybe it is that God feels the same way too. Maybe they were right about that too. And though I know he is real, I know what he can do for I have seen him do things for others, it isn't him it is I that is evil and bad. The one not even God can love. Me. I already know that. I know for they told me.

If anyone hears me, the me, one of many, I am reaching and afraid of slipping away. I haven't stopped but feel I am being stopped and this is scaring me.

Not her, me. All of us.

Debbie