The process of detachment was slow.

I realize this now, looking back. It was gradual; careful. Slowly, I stopped speaking to them. Slowly, I resorted to staring at the wall instead of taking part in conversation. Sinking into my head, building up a million walls, locking what was left of me away in a proverbial box.

I barely even observed the others, however. I was self absorbed; I contemplated my sadness. I longed for a rescue; I told myself there would be none. When losing myself in the shadows became a comfort, I knew I was gone.

Before long, it was like I was invisible. Eyes at the table passed right over me; conversation maneuvered around me. I became an obstacle, one not able to be seen; but one carefully avoided, of course.

It’s over now. I unlocked my chains, broke down my walls, opened my boxes, got rid of the shadows. I think I’m the only one that remembers. This is for the best. One outstanding sorrow remains, however.

Nobody ever even tried to save me.

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