You Don't Know Me

You don't know me.

Stop and take a second to let that sink in. I don't care how long we've known each other. I don't care how we met or what you mean to me or I to you.

You don't know me.

How many times have I called you in the middle of the night, crying my eyes out and needing your help? How many times have I asked you how to make it all go away? How many times have I told you why I don't like burdening you with my problems? Do you even know what my problems are?

You don't know me.

But I know you. I know why you were so worried but wouldn't tell anyone because if they knew, you would have been stigmatized. I know that you don't actually know what stigmatized means. I know what a small person you are on the inside because of what you write on other people's wall posts. I know how naive you are. I know how you think that people have the same negative view of you that you yourself have. I know what he did to you all those years back. I know everything about you that I need to know.

I know you.

But you don't know that I was just as worried as you were. You don't know that when that word confuses you that I'll tack an explanation on the end to make you think that was my intention all along to make you feel better. You don't know that I wish that I could be that small of a person and let everyone with a third grade vocabulary know exactly what I think. You don't know that I wish I were as naive as you, so that all of those innuendos would mean nothing and I could keep from worrying. You don't know that I wish I could pretend to be as confident as you are. You don't know how furious I was that since he died, I can't kill him myself like I'd planned all these years. You don't know anything about me.

You probably don't even know that every sentence is about someone else entirely.

This sounds like I'm smug and mocking you, but this is just the beginning. You will know everything there is to know.

Eventually.