To those of you who follow me on the various social media: you’ve come to expect that most of the personal, introspective, realistic things I post are self-deprecating jokes, right? I can speak something serious, something plain and direct, but in the comments, you’re joking because you think I’m joking. Right? OK. So here’s a fucking joke for you:
Question: How do I talk to pretty girls?
Answer: I DON’T.
Go ahead. Laugh. I fucking dare you.
I might actually be hurting inside and completely alone, but that’s fine with you, right? As long as I make you laugh, it’ll be alright. Right? My loneliness is funny.
This is why I don’t say anything when I’m torn up inside. You don’t take me seriously. Do you ever have a moment where you say, “But he didn’t call for help. I thought he was doing OK. It was a joke, right?” This is that. Fuck you. You’re welcome.
You have all the answers. So do I. I’m not looking for your answers. I’m not looking for any answers at all. I’m looking for your empathy. I want to know I’m not alone. So many times I want to say something, but I don’t, because you have an opinion about what I should be doing. Well so do I. Your opinion doesn’t matter. This isn’t a game. Nobody’s keeping score. It’s not about the nail in my forehead. I know it’s there. I just want to know I’m not alone. Seriously. Reach out to me.
For once in our lives, reach out to me.