It’s What You Don’t See

When I feel slowly robbed of everything good in life, it becomes harder and harder to raise my weary head.
When periods of unberable sadness and undeniable anger stretch my days, I find fewer reasons to be.
My life is a constant string of loneliness, hopelessness, misery, fear, and insecurity.
I find that either the substitutes used to replace what I feel are missing are either not present or inadequate.
Every day I find fewer and fewer comforts and these vices that do allow a sense of calm are slowly destroying me.

My mind is muddled by the hurtful words that you speak so candidly towards me. 
I understand your frustration. I understand your anger. I understand your need to defend yourself.
What I do not understand is the flat out hurtfulness in absolutely everything that you direct towards me.

I have forever forgotten how to appreciate the natural beauty of life.
My world is dark and daunting, and it consumes me like something I have never known.
The artificial alternates I use to fill these moments are both harmful and fleeting and end up leaving me feeling more and more alone.
I’ve forgotten it all…love, happiness, hope, promise, desire, fulfillment, want, and gratitude.
I’ve replaced every dream with something far, far less.

Verbal jabs and cold shoulders, both spoken and unspoken feelings of bitter disdain.
Attitudes offered to and merely reflected off of me when I am in your presence.
You aren’t allowed to see the way your words and actions make me feel.

But this rigid disguise I pose melts away in my moments of uncomfortable solitude.
Beneath all of these protected layers is a very fragile man whose brittle bones shake far more frequently than he will ever dare admit.
Each day I’m engulfed with endless amounts of emotional, physical, and mental pain.
Cornered by a self-induced panic, I force myself to forget the day when I’m alone and away from watchful eyes.
Bloody raw is this beaten heart; there is only so much self-punishment that one man should be allowed to endure.

Your cruel words wound me. I’m pained by your cold-hearted actions.
Though you’ll never see it, the way you treat me has, and will continue to have, a forever lasting impact on me.
What you say does hurt me. The way you behave around me does bring me pain.

There are no tears, but rather a rage so intense that it scares even me. 
Needed by others, praised for deeds well done, and thanked by those to whom I offer assistance.
The impact of this gratitude is null and void when I spend hours upon hours secluded from society, searching for reasons to exist. 
It matters so little when I spend my nights brewing over my physical ailments or sulking in my mental anguish.
It matters so little when I spend so much time trying to correct my emotional imbalances.

Beaten and bruised, but this face remains stoic while I’m in your presence.
You will never have the privilege of seeing how miserable you have come to make me feel.
You will never get the pleasure of seeing how unhappy I am living the life I continue to live. 

Each day becomes more of a struggle just to belong.
What once were conscious decisions have quickly become anything but that.
I remember less of the man I used to be, a man of high esteem, a man of ideals.
I cannot recall what life felt like when the air was a little less stale.
I have forgotten the feelings of joy and comfort when I was able to breathe a bit more easily.

In front of you and the company of others, I present a front that seems as if all is perfectly fine.
Careful eyes watch me; I know you must wonder how I can so easily hold everything together.
The mask that hides my face is nothing; the pain, the lies, and the fatigue that I carry in my heart wears me out each new night. 

But away from the noise and away from the glare, I hide less.
I walk without direction. I lean on little. I rely on few. I roam aimlessly in a world that seems to feed off of my withdrawal. 
I need guidance but know not how to ask for it. I require assistance but know not how to accept it.
I need for someone to take notice and lead me, even after I refuse their offer.
Am I the same person when I am locked inside of my home as when I am outside of it?