I Am Sorry

A life of total dependence on sympathy is hard to live with.
Sympathy is volitional, but you force compassion by manipulation.
You’ve played us all; screaming for help because you know you will be first for everything—priority treatment, the VIP deal.
And now I am done.
But you still have your audience and yell in public, because there is always that one—there always has been that one—who feels sorry for you and will bow to your selfishness, your self-absorption, your lies.
You are blind to your conniving ways.
It has become your identity, defines your existence, and I have accommodated it for too long—failing to give you the opportunity to be you—treating you like an object to be taken care of instead of allowing you to become an independent human being.
Herein lies my empathy; we made you who you are now . . . impossible to live with.
Too little time, too much work, too few people—the system has not yet been sufficiently individualized to preserve your personality, your identity, your dignity.
We have lost you; you have lost yourself; and I am losing it—on you.
I am sorry.