You've Heard it Before

I can't. I won't. I should. It might help. It might be letting the world see the wounds. It's too self-indulgent and pathetic.
Stay away. Go away. I will drive every human contact into a safe area. No peeking behind the blinds.
How weak I've become. How strong I once was. Let the years roll by and serve my life sentence of suffering. For what? Nothing. It's a meaningless nightmare of pain. You've heard it before.
Yet the words salve my wounds for a little while. It's a prison vacation in a walking torture chamber. I hate these words, I hate the weakness and the self-exile. But no one else can see. They won't understand, because neither do I.