The Things I'd Tell You

I want to tell you that I'm scared about the possibility of a fine to my mother. I'm scared of what's going to happen if it goes through. If I'm even going to survive that.

I want to tell you that some days I don't eat. That I'm working on fixing it, but still there are days that I don't feel like I deserve it.

I want to tell you that I'm scared of asking for your support, because I don't know what the cost is. And though I'd love to ask, to have someone hug me again, I just can't handle the downfall. The way you go when things look up for me, and the urgency isn't on anymore, and there's finally no pressure saying you have to do this. Only, "Do you really want to help her?"

You won't ever say the truth. And I want to believe what you say with all my heart, but there it is.

Because when I can finally stand strong, everyone seems to think I don't need support anymore.

And I'm here wanting to tell you that you're wrong.

But I can't bring myself to.


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