I'm told I am strong,
when I force a smile and ignore the pain,
by someone who has never shook the hand of death.
I am told I am selfish,
when I say I don't want to keep fighting,
by someone who's never had depression peek into their mind.
I am told I will be missed,
when I mention my thoughts of leaving,
by somebody with similar scars as mine.
I am told I am loved,
when I say I don't think I have a purpose,
by somebody who once believed love would never find them.
I was told they were proud of me,
when I confronted the demons within my mind,
by somebody who left me in the shadows.
I am told that I'm just weak and it will pass,
when I described everything shattering around me,
by somebody paid to figure out why I was falling apart.
I figure now that the answer is clear,
and I just never noticed it before.
The ones that are supposed to help,
that have never truly hurt,
are the ones that make the lights dimmer.
The ones that felt you in the dark,
because they too search for the light,
are the ones that keep you from falling further.
Because the ones that are supposed to help are more concerned with making themselves feel good, when they tell you it's selfish, you're weak, or that you just need to pretend you're fine and eventually it'll be better.
And the ones that are falling apart just like you, simply understand.