I never write this way so that anyone can feel bad for me. Pity does nothing for me other than the split second of relief I get when I hear it. After that, reality settles in and I realize that their attempt to console me will do nothing. I will leave the conversation just as empty as when it started. Just as lost. Just as pathetic. Deep in my heart I know there is a hole somewhere, pouring and spilling, leaving a trail for others to see. The products of my moments of energy, in an attempt to please others and find some fulfilment, rarely seem important. I put my all into something just to be crushed or to get mediocre results. I sometimes don’t want to try anymore. Everything feels so heavy on me. Like the weight of a planet on me, barely budging with every struggle and ounce of my might I try to use to move it.