Deep Down Your Black Heart

Nothing lasts forever. Not even loneliness. It claws at you like a persistent ghost, whispering that it's all you'll ever know. But one day, the pieces of your endless studies, your desperate search for the cure to your isolation, will click into place. It won't be about learning how to make friends or copying what you see others do. It will be about understanding that the only way to stop your isolation from devouring you is to learn how to be a friend.

I know it's hard. I know you'd rather stay in the sanctuary of your mind, where you're safe, where no one can touch you or hurt you. I know you've learned how to be happy there—just you and the world you've created. But God, it's tearing you apart. Life can be beautiful in solitude, yes, but when no one is there to share it with, that beauty feels like a punishment. You've convinced yourself you're fine, but deep down, you know it's a lie.

I know you're tired of trying. Tired of begging for a place in someone's world. Tired of the effort, the rejection, the feeling of being invisible. But hear me out: you've grown. You're not the same person who tried and failed before. You've been to hell and back. You've survived yourself. You've lived in your mind for so long, in this fantastic, chaotic world you've built. It's who you are. I understand that.

But let's make a deal. Just this once, leave your mind. Step outside, even if it's terrifying. Join a club, compliment a stranger, channel your imagination into something tangible. Draw what you see, paint what you feel, sculpt what haunts you—down to the last detail—and share it with the world. Give it one more chance. And if you hate it? If it hurts too much? You have every right to retreat.

This time, I didn't have to try. Someone found me. They pulled me out of the shadows and into their light. For the first time in my life, someone saw me and didn't flinch. They didn't give me the chance to go back to what I was. They made me feel appreciated. For the first time, I mattered to someone.

He became my guide, my lifeline. He taught me how to communicate with strangers, how to navigate the terrifying intricacies of human connection. He showed me the gym and how to improve myself with it and introduced me to his friends, and before I knew it, they became mine as well. It felt so good to be wanted, to be seen, to belong.

But even as I laugh with them, as I feel their warmth, there's a nagging thought I can't escape. If they knew—if they saw me for who I truly am—would they still love me?

Would they still look at me the same way if they knew the thoughts that plague my mind? The things I've done in my head? The murder, the dehumanizing acts, the torture. The self-harm, the emotional pain I've inflicted, the families and lovers I've ripped apart in my daydreams. The power I crave, the pain I wield like a weapon.

If they knew how dark it gets in here—how often I lose myself in the chaos—would they still call me a friend? Or would they turn away like everyone else?

So forgive me. Forgive me for the mask I wear, for the lies I tell without a second thought. Forgive me for the person you think you know, the person I've carefully constructed to keep you close. That isn't who I am. But if it keeps you here, I'll keep playing the role.

I swear, though: I will never use you the way I've used others. I will never betray you or be disloyal. I will always protect you, always keep your best interests at heart. If you need me, I'll be there. I'll be everything you need me to be. Everything except truthful.

Because the truth might drive you away. And I can't go back to being alone.

I love you. I love you for giving me something I thought I'd never have. But I'm not naïve. I know your love is conditional. So is mine. And I'll love you until the day you show me you're not worthy of it.

This mask I wear, this performance—it's not just for you. It's for me. It's how I survive. It's how I keep the darkness from consuming everything. And if wearing it means I can keep you in my life, then I'll wear it until it fuses to my skin.

You don't need to see what lies beneath. Only I carry that burden. That's the way it must be.