If you’re asking me if I knew that I’d be alone
If I knew that nobody would care
If I knew that no one would continually come to my rescue
Then the answer would be what you expected.
I never flirted with Death nor did I ever provoked it, I stayed far away from it although sometimes my thoughts seemed like quite an invitation for it to come meet me.
If you asked if I knew that I was nothing special
If I knew that there are more than thousands like me
If I knew that my struggles are like a joke to someone, dust to another and a dream to an other
Then my answer would make you quickly reply an I told you so
But I never knew that no matter what I do, no matter what I think, no matter what I say, I could never feel like I belong somewhere. Even if it starts okay, at the end I’m less that or too much that or simply too ordinary and average. My problems get measured and classified and as their holder so am I categorize with them. I am no longer a person with troubles, I’m a trouble holding recipient.
And when you don’t feel like you’re worthy it’s a warning, when you don’t feel like you matter it’s alarming but when you don’t feel like you’re a person anymore then you’re at the edge and there’s nowhere else to go.
Right now all my sensors are red but I turned long ago to monochromatic vision, the world consists of different shades of grey but slowly the white is fading and the black will be all I see.