Hurt

It's like this little tiny knot that clinches itself in the middle of your breast bone. Little drops that hang on the cliff of your eye lids. It may be easier to just cry it out to curl up in your bed amongst the pile of socks that need to be sorted. Why is is that time and time again, weekend after weekend, sob after sob I'm left at home. The after thought to people's days. Why is it that change after change I can't seem to shake the victim role. I'm left at home waiting for a phone to ring. You made a promise not with the actual word but with your word as a friend. And it's not just one of you it's four of you. The four people who are the rocks in my life have yet again let me down. Why is it that I'm always waiting for people to squeeze me into their schedules. Why am I always surprised when you don't call why is it that I find it OK. Because I have so few people in my life that being mad at the very few would mean losing the only support that I have. There must be some recurring theme as to why people are always leaving my life. I just can't seem to find it. I've been searching for over ten years. Can someone rip off the band aid and tell me what I'm doing wrong.  I'd like to not be home on a Saturday night, alone, again.