It's so hard. It's near impossible. Getting shut down. Turned away. Again and again and again. You need help and you're told go. They can help you. Go there. They've worked with so many others like you. Others like me? Really? Just the thought makes the load less burdensome. Puts some pep in your step. And then you call. When you speak, it doesn't even feel like you're sharing a vulnerability because they've seen my case countless times. Or so I'm told. But then reality comes crashing down. “We can't help you here. This isn't something we do.” Suddenly that shell that you forgot existed snaps back into place. Hard. It seals itself so tightly that you think it's impossible to ever open again. But you're left with no choice. You have to unhinge yourself once more because keeping things status quo isn't an option. So you rip apart the thick walls around your heart and start once more. Hoping the scars left by the tearin aren't permanent.
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