I'm in a forest. I have no sense of direction or hope. I don't know what's up, down, left, or right. I don't think I can get better.
I'm surrounded by trees. Tons of them, all different, but all so very much alike. They blur together as I run past them, they morph into one tree. One tree that has no meaning to me, but memories. Plenty of memories.
I'm lost, and all of those dang trees see it. They know I am. They just stare at me with those stupid trunks and branches. I scream for help, and I scream for salvation. I scream for love and acceptance and hope and faith. I scream for someone to see just how messed up I really am, and I shriek for someone who can help that.
And those freaking trees just stare back at me. They don't answer, all I get in response is the quiet whisper of wind through the leaves. The rumors, the gossip, the words that those trees think are invisible. I hear them all. Every syllable, every pronunciation, I hear it.
"Lindsey hates herself."
"Poor thing. Probably doesn't get much love at home."
"I wish I knew her better so I could help her."
"Oh well, what can you do?"
"Some people just don't do anything in life."
"Right. It lets us be more successful."
These trees. They're my company, my friends. And they don't want to help. I thought as friends, they were supposed to care.
This forest is going to kill me, I know it. These trees and their words are going to be the death of Lindsey - Lindsey. It's odd to call myself that, because Lindsey is a name. Is it possible to give a name to something that doesn't exist? I don't think so.
I scream and cry in frustration and hatred, a coldness spreading through me, taking over my soul. It shoots ice through my veins down to my toes, and even the warmest day wouldn't be able to warm me up. I stare at the barren forest. I'm freezing. I scream one more time, one more desperate attempt for salvation.
I see only a group of trees rustle their branches in response, the roots struggling against their dirty confinements. They try to reach out to me, but I'm too far away from them. I'm lost in the forest, and all I can see is those trees trying to help me.
"Move."
"Get up and move, Lindsey!"
"Please!"
"You can do it!"
Those trees, the ones fighting against all unfavorable odds to help me, are true. They are the ones who care about me. I know this, and I know I need to do this. This is it, my final chance to be happy.
I'm desperately trying to find the motivation to go, but I know what would await me if I managed to get over there. To the trees who want to help. It kills me inside and I find myself losing touch with reality again. It blurs together, and I lay back down on a pile of dead leaves, empty.
Knowing that I can't go to those who truly care about me isn't what hurts the most.
It's knowing that once I get there, once I get out of this shell, they couldn't help me anyways.
That's the most painful part about this forest.
