I reach out and it's as if my voice is not heard. I stand before you crying for help yet you turn and walk away. My pain is obvious yet you seem blind to it. Perhaps it is only I who can hear my voice screaming in agony and it is the world who hears but a whisper come from my lips. A gentle sob carried by the wind. I seek not sympathy nor pity, simply an ear to which my sorrows can be removed from my body, making them no longer mine. But also an ear which understands my pain and is willing to listen without offering hollow words of advice or encouragement.
What do you see when you look at me? A "genuine" smile or the truth; that the smile is in fact a superficial facade put up to hide my real suffering. But even this protective wall is crumbling, the agony showing behind the phony grin. Surely if I can see it when I look in the mirror, it should be apparent to those who look at me?
You laugh at me, chuckle at my comments as if what I have just said is funny when it was meant to be taken seriously. You dismiss my words as mindless drivel, the exhaustive ramblings of a woman who knows not what she speaks, perhaps overreacting as though others somehow know her better than herself.
I sometimes wonder if my scream will only become apparent once I'm gone. If all of the past revelations will come together in a moment of grand epiphany. If suddenly my voice will be heard and understood for the warning signal it was meant to be. If the seriousness of the situation will finally be deduced as someone who was crying for help all along only nobody was able to correctly interpret what was being said. The pain of living with this question is almost unbearable. Only one possible outcome hurts more than this: What if even in death, the world remained oblivious?
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