The Consoler

So now what? What do I do now? I feel… empty. Like… like something disgusting crawled inside me And ate all my insides. …Ate my soul. Ugh, I feel horrible! I know, I know… people are tired of me. Tired of how I complain, Or rather… the lack of my complaining. I sit and think all the time. Staring off into space. It’s just… I feel safe there. Safe in my mind… But I’m not safe. I’m far from it! I’m stuck in a world of depression… And no one cares. They just want me to get over it! But I can’t! I hate it! I hate how they look at me, Like I’m crazy or something! It hurts… it hurts so much. They don’t understand… All I want… is to be held. For someone, Anyone, To hold me in their arms… just for a moment. To tell me it’s okay and that they’ll be there. But no one does. It hurts because… Because I’m the consoler, never the consoled. I go to others to help them, But no one comes to help me. I feel… trapped. Trapped between wanting to cry and scream, And wanting to smile and be done with it. But… what can be done? Life goes on and I must continue my work – to console. This is the price I have to pay. Everyone comes to me with their burdens and lays them on me, But they don’t see that they are drowning me. Oh well… I will continue with this task that I have been given, And I will continue to carry others burdens – Until the day I mentally can take no more or until… I die.