they said
“i’m here if you need.”
but vanished when i did
offered words like warm bandages
then recoiled
from the sight of real blood

support that looked good in text
but never made it past the screen
a love that echoed like a voicemail
never quite reaching me
when it mattered most

they ask “how are you?”
but not to hear the truth
just enough to feel kind
just enough to keep the mask in place
if you answer honestly
they flinch

and that’s the toll

you start doubting your own need
you quiet the cry before it rises
you rehearse being “fine”
like it’s a second language
you were forced to learn to survive

you begin to shrink
to carry your collapse alone
because every time you tried to share it
someone called it too heavy
and walked away lighter

but here’s what no one tells you
you’re allowed to stop explaining
you’re allowed to stop knocking
on doors that never open

there is no healing in begging
for crumbs of connection
from those who feast on your silence

so you begin again
with yourself

you become the ear you never had
the shoulder that never vanished
you learn to recognize
the difference between
presence and performance

you build small sanctuaries
a journal that listens
without judgment
a walk in the trees
that doesn’t require words

and maybe
just maybe
you find one or two souls
who show up
when it’s not convenient
who sit beside your storm
without trying to fix the weather

this is how you leave
not in anger
but in clarity

you stop pouring light
into hands full of holes
you let the fake fall away
you save the softness for those
who know how to hold it

and most of all
you come home to yourself
because the most sacred kind of support
is the kind that never leaves
when everyone else does