I personally didn't want to fight. It's a fight I've never thought I'd be in, a war I would've screamed mercy. I would go to lengths to avoid them.

You can vaguely detect the annoyance people seem to give you, and you ask bluntly. They either reply with what they actually dislike about you or more often, reassure you that nothing's wrong, they adore you.

It's horrible when you want to change for the better; but you just lack the motivation, the drive to be a better person, a valuable asset to your small society.

There's always this doubt, this monologue in your mind that you'll never measure up to their expectations. They're usually right. You care, but you have no energy to do anything anymore.

You try to hide it. It's not like you're unstable, it's not like you're a loose cannon. You try to prove them wrong, you try and prove you are worth their time.

You laugh when they're there, but at night you sniffle your cries into the pillow and thank the gods that the walls are soundproof.

You try and control yourself. Trying to cut bad habits. Habits you'd rather forget about, habits you'd never want people knowing. You start to have a love-hate relationship with the colour red.

You try and anchor yourself to reality. You flail and try to stay afloat. You convince yourself, tomorrow, is gonna be a better day for you. Sometimes it is. Sometimes it's not. You hang in there, tethering on the edge of your mind and reality, and act you're on solid ground and you have no direction but up.

You try to ignore the abyss that your legs are dangling into. You put all your strength onto your hand that's holding you up. Maybe just a ledge barely enough for your fingertips, maybe a branch you grabbed hols tightly.

Sometimes someone walks by and doesn't acknowledge your situation and you laugh it off.

Sometimes, sometimes, there are people who notice, who's aware. They might be on a similar ledge, they might be on solid ground, looking down on you. Some jeer and laugh, grinding their feet into whatever little purchase you have on the ledge.

But some, they risk their own lives to help.

They might be on a lower place than you, desperately pushing you back out and perhaps condemning themselves. Perhaps they trust you to get out and help them out.

They might be on the same level as you, muttering hopeful pleas, rekindling whatever that you thought had burned out a long time ago. They hold your hand, give you a watery smile, and promise you'll both get out together.

They might be on solid ground, but lying down and leaning out; wobbling on the ledge, and the sun shining behind them, and they grab hold of your arm and swear they'll pull you up.

They might be on solid ground or just on a higher ledge. They tell you you'll make it, and you voice your concern on how they would know. And they show you their fight. And you believe them.

Other times you feel like you're on a staircase. You don't see anywhere to go but down, and gates slammed closed behind you. You scream and try to go back, to no avail.

You can't go anywhere but down.

Although no one gave you keys to open those gates, they give you an alternative route. A slippery slope that guides you back up. They tell you it's no easy way up. They gave no reassurance about the journey but one guarantee. You can come up. It's not going to be easy.

You can choose. You might slop down at some point up. You might want to give up. You will want to give up. You will doubt yourself. You will wonder if you are worth their time. You will believe you don't deserve them in your life. You will want to block them out. You will do any sacrifice for them - it's better for a person as broken as you to break more, rather than a working machine. You don't want them to risk their sanity for you.

But they're there. They offer. They listen. They cry. They tell you that you're not as bad as you view yourself. They stay. They linger. They Care.

And that's enough.

~Leo Valdez, 1/1/2018