On The Last Day On Earth, I Will Not Be Alone (3)

I cannot remember when I wasn’t lonely. I talk with my mom, my sisters, even my dad’s grave when I’m feeling particularly hopeful or depressed. I talk to friends, share things with them. I even talk my damn shrink. And they all listen, and nod. And I’m just standing there, listening to my mouth go off and think: “None of you get me. You try, I see you trying, and I’m thankful for it, but you cannot comprehend what a struggle it is just to talk to you, just to go out, just to try and not remember every little time I fucked up in my life so I can have a normal conversation without groaning in pain at my own infantile mistakes.”

I haven’t found a single person who can truly sympathize, who can put an arm around my shoulder. I wonder if I ever will.

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