You Don't Know Them

They call her an idiot. Make jokes about her killing herself. Scoff at all of her achievements, no matter how big. They laugh at her behind her back. Even straight to her face. She's surrounded by anger and mockery; pain consumes her. No matter who stands by her side, she repeatedly falls victim to her own thoughts of just not being good enough. No words of encouragement even make it to her ears. She can't break free, she doesn't belong.

I'm ready to lose her, I know she seeks freedom. I can't force her to stay here, to enjoy life. I don't want her to, but now I know what it will mean, how people will approach me differently, how I will have to continually spend nights missing her. I understand. It is still not ok.

Already, I have been left behind. She is here still, but not really, not even a majority of the time. She is still joked about even though ninety percent of her is dead. You didn't know the girl I used to know. You don't know anything about this girl. She's not acting, she's in pain. Don't apologize to me for being her friend as you call her crazy, I love her. She may be mentally troubled, but that gives you NO right to call her that without knowing her story. If I had gone through the same trials I might be just as crazy as her, who knows?

I watch as they all hurt themselves, not able to jump the hurdles. Stumbling, falling, I try to catch them, but I can't catch them all. Finally I have figured it out, I'm not supposed to catch them, they need to fall on their face until they get it right. I'm just supposed to help them back up.

When it really ends, the pain, the fear, the hospital visits, the long nights of crying, the endless texts and calls to anyone who can temporarily sooth her emotions, will disappear. I, for a short period, will go too. Everything my life was built upon making better will have just drowned in itself.

Once she is gone everyone cares, no one realized where she was in life. That she had been ready to end it, that she wanted nothing more than to disappear. Now is the time to put on sad masks for a short while. The mourners can all join together, real and fake.

Blood covered, scarred, broken. Tell me you see it. Make me believe that when you let the words come out of your mouth you aren't just wanting to see them in more pain. Please show me that you know what you are doing.

That's right, you don't know them.

Sincerely,
                   Words of those left behind