I’m asking for help.
I’m reaching out my hand—
because I’m falling, and I’m falling fast.
I’ve been swallowed by the depths of sadness,
of exhaustion,
of loneliness.

But instead of being helped,
I was mocked.
Instead of being comforted,
I was insulted.
Instead of hearing, “I’m here for you,”
all I heard was,
"That’s your fault. You’re weak."

Instead of wiping my tears,
they laughed at me.
And now,
I’ve become the joke—
the laughingstock.

Like my pain was a punchline
and my breakdown was entertainment.
They didn't see a cry for help,
they saw a stage.

I want to rise above it.
I want to breathe again.
But every time I try to climb,
someone pulls me back down.

I get yelled at—
as if I have no right to be tired,
as if I have no right to be sad,
as if I have no right to simply ask for help.

They think I choose strength.
But the truth is,
strength is the only mask I have left
when I have no other choice
but to hold myself together.

I don’t want to give up.
But what do you do when every cry for help
is answered with ridicule?

How do you keep fighting
when the very people you expected to support you
are the first to strangle you with their words?

I used to be afraid of the dark — but not anymore,
because the darkness around me and the darkness I feel inside have become the same.

Instead of being saved, I was pushed off the edge.
Instead of being helped to stand, I was mocked even more.
Their words speak of kindness, but their actions betray cruelty.

They preach fairness, yet they have favorites. For them,
love overflows — but only for some.
For me, it's always just the bare minimum

I’m tired.
Tired of explaining myself.
Tired of pretending I’m strong
just so they won’t call me “attention-seeking.”

I’m not asking for grand kindness.
I’m not asking for all the answers—
all I wanted was a little understanding.

Just once,
help me stand
before you judge me.