[B., this, sadly, goes out to you.]

Do I even matter as a person or do I satisfy this thirst of knowledge, of gossip of yours?

Is it significant when I spill my deepest thoughts and expectations, and feelings to you in a small white box, waiting for your validation?

Or is it just a thing that keeps you coming back for more, just something to let you know I'm alive?

Does it make you feel useful, helpful, in touch with your human side when you seem to be feeding on my misery?

Is this the reason you just fill the talk with useless words that don't seem to be coming from your heart, or caring mind, but from your programed-to-say-something-anything-at-all mind?

I feel bad, and even worse when being fronted with such. I did not ask you to inquire about my state of mind, I didn't even want to make a suggestion of it. I am not fine on my own more than before, but nor I am asking for your help, understanding, compassion or consideration. I did not ask for any of those, nothing, I didn't even ask for a question.

I know, or at least I suppose all those wonderful feelings come when you're willing to listen to the other, because then you care, and you show that. And it's not about the words, but about what you put in them. It's the message you get across that matters. Not the psycho-crap you tried to sell me. Heaven knows, I do that to myself everyday.

You know, I literally, put my life along those lines I write. That is, unfortunately, what my life has been made of during the past few years. And I didn't ask for it, but it's how it came out to be. Those almost surreal experiences you are fronted with are what made me who I am today, for better or for worst.

You can judge me all you want, but do not pretend to care at the same time. I'm not buying that.