I stand alone apart from all the others. I stand alone because of fear. If I should reach out to say hello they may reject me and banish me from here.
I am one of many in a country on a planet in a galaxy within a universe one of the lost, one of the cursed.
I stand alone in a room full of people some I know, they smile and say my name but then they turn away to some one more interesting …. it is like a cruel game.
I stand alone at work I do the things the others do , I use the computer carry files take notes speak with clients nothing new. I eat my lunch at my desk or walk in the park , I leave the office late and get home in the dark.
I stand alone in the bar where I have joined my workmates for a drink they seem so together . The alcohol does not help in fact it just makes my heart sink. I say goodbye but no one notices they are all too busy. I leave the bar and hail a cab the alcohol and night air conspire to make me dizzy.
I stand alone in my flat again, and cry , on my own as ever and I do not know why. I do not always what this just to be a place I own. I want it to be happy I want it to be a home. I need to make the effort I need to reach out , but always in the backgrounds echoes the doubt.
What am I to do,why did I build that invisible barrier why do I not let anyone in. They all think I am coping well living life to the full. If I told the truth would it be such a sin. It is so hard to drop my guard I do not know what their reaction will be , to open up is so very hard for me.
I stand alone in the bathroom and look at my reflection it is not so good just look at my complexion. Sunken and gaunt my eyes look dead and I am just so pale. I have had enough I just no longer care if I succeed or fail.
I have to try harder if I am to live. I know somewhere inside I have lots to give. So it doesn’t matter how much it hurts me I have to make the move and set me free. It has come to this, the choice I have to make. I either make an effort with the world or I attend my own wake.
I stand alone in the bedroom I am looking in the wardrobe I need to pick my brightest colours my highest heels I need to lift my soul. Tomorrow I will decide if I knock down the barrier and let them all inside or if not to look my best so they can say “she looked beautiful when she died.” Shall I choose life or suicide?