Sometimes

Sometimes when I'm driving, I really wonder what it would be like if i got in an accident, and if I would either die or be in a coma, who would come? Who would care? Who would they call, in case of an emergency. Because right now this counts as an emergency. And not one person is there. Try calling people who are supposed to care about you, and they don't answer. After a while don't you stop calling? But it's your fault for getting estranged. Try having someone who always depends on you, and the second you need them, they just aren't there. And when you try calling them on it later, well you're all right now aren't you? Who am I supposed to count on? Because at this point not one person is there. I have a total of zero people right now whom I can trust. I'm not asking them to fix anything, none of the messes I've gotten myself in, but I am asking them to help me with the messes they've gotten me in. And there's no answer on the phone.

I have locked myself in a room,and I'm not coming out. Not by choice, but because I had nowhere else to go. I have emotionally shut myself down, and have completely hidden myself away. Not many know that, but none have come looking. I sit and wait, not to be rescued just to be found. Physically I am here, and I may fake a smile but in my mind I sit somewhere else. I wonder if anyone notices that this is an impostor. No, I'm not usually this angry, or disinterested, or sad. If you look closely you might see me waving from a window, of that room that I locked myself in. Am I imprisoned here? It is a bit confining and lonely. I have tried to get out, I really have and when I do, I run back in. I am afraid of what is on the outside, because it all hurts. Try telling this to someone and having them not think you're crazy.

I make myself bleed sometimes. This way, when I am bleeding I have a reason to cry. I bottle everything up, when I explode, it doesn't matter because no one is listening. So I have learned to just keep it in. Sometimes I feel like Alice. Too big or too small, never the right size. That is how my emotions are. Too much or none at all.  Just all the same, I never know what to do with them. So I bleed them out. It feels better when I can see the scars. The ones I know are there, they hurt, but I can't see them. Neither can anyone else. When I can watch them heal, that's when I feel better. I feel when they hurt and they are physically there. And I can understand them.

So, as I sit in my room, alone, locked away from the outside I fear that no one will find me. I fear that I'll learn to like it in here too much, and when someone comes I won't want to leave. It's going to be too late, and I won't understand why they want to take me away. Because my pain became my comfort.

And they'll all go on, in their own little worlds with me on the outside. Alone in a room full of people. Void of emotion, until they realize I'm no fun. And slowly they'll start disappearing. And from time to time, as they leave I'll look out my window and try to scream for them to come back, to help me, to find me. But it's too late. And again my only comfort will always be there. Even if it's a lie, it's a beautiful, comforting, lie.

There will be no escape, and there I'll have to stay. There I'll adapt, and then everything else will seem out of the ordinary. And I'll stay, because I'm lost. I've lost the way out.