I used to think that if only every body knew what my life was really like, what my hell was really like, they would all care and that They would help me. And would want to help me. And would want to help me make everything better. But now that I have been living long enough I realize (sadly) that I was mistaken (sadly). Even if everyone knew what my life was really like what my hell was really life nothing would change. People are surprisingly immune to the pain of others. People have a great knack for closing their eyes and closing their ears and closing their hearts. In such a way that compassion gets stuck in their throats until they start choking on it and spit it out, like bile.