My silent protest

You tell me my virtues are beyond words. That I am deserving of all the help I need to get onto the same level, because all of us know that fundamentally I am different and have been different, by my own actions, the actions of others, and my sheer nature.

You wax eloquent about how I have done so much and do so much, how I bend over backwards to be nice and care about other people and have done virtually nothing — or indeed nothing at all — deserving of the mistreatment you admit I receive.

You say this as you take the pipe from my hand, as I put the drink down in front of you, as I come back with an extra cheeseburger or handful of candy, as I lend you a tiny bit more money to cover the rent.

But when we’re among friends, socializing, drinking, I sit alone. You all talk, smile, have fun, and when I ask why I am left alone you claim it is my fault somehow, even though when I talk no one responds, and when I am given attention it is temporary and perfunctory, and I am lucky to have five consecutive minutes where I am not alone.

When it comes to action, your words go out the window, and I am deserving of the mistreatment, the total ignorance I receive.

That is, until you need another drink — and when I tell you ‘no’, I’m an asshole.

And you almost never care when I sit in my room, where I am the least alone that I could ever be, surrounded by all of my real friends…so how, then, can you call me ‘friend’?

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