We didn’t get help. People didn’t want to.
There was no help, so you did it alone. And we made it. But it’s beyond fucking shit, that nobody cared enough to put themselves out there, to help… It couldve been so different, better. And instead we had no one.
My therapist every now and again says something along the lines of you can’t allow yourself to let me help you. You won’t accept it. And I stare blankly back at her, silent, no answers. Because yeah, I can’t let you in or let you help, because it’s too little too fucking late.
This word makes me enraged, and I know there’s another emotion behind it, but I don’t want that either.