Claiming to be your friend.
Disguising itself as a cure.
For your sickness, loneliness and worry.
Stay in bed today, tomorrow, in fact stay in bed all week, that will help you.
Don't answer the door, it's better to be alone.
Forget the ringing telephone it's probably a telemarketer.
It's just a matter of time and you will get better, hang in there.
After months of being alone,
You wonder where your friends and family have gone.
The silence seems so loud, you just wish it would stop.
The space around you gets smaller.
Cutting yourself didn't help.
Drinking didn't help.
Drugs didn't help.
You finally decide to throw the rope over the rafter and jump, as self-pity convinces you death is your only friend.
When you come face to face with death, you find no solace.
God was talking to you all along. You couldn't hear him through the noise of self-pity.
Now God is lonesome because there is one less in his flock.
He opens the door when someone knocks.
He answers when someone calls.
And he rules over self-pity, and simply says, be gone you loathsome creature, there is no place for you here with me and my people.
Self-pity leaves but only because he has more work to do.
Tell self-pity, I have no work for you here, so move on.