I’m asking for a friend.

 “Asking for a Friend”

By Jake Bannerman
HorrorInkBlog.blogspot.com

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You.
Yes—you. The one scrolling. The one peeking into my life like it’s a horror story that doesn’t belong to you.
Let me ask you something raw. No metaphor. No punchline.

If you knew—really knew—that I was alone tonight…

In very bad pain.
Sobbing.
Probably manic.
Definitely spiraling.
Wrestling with the loaded breath of a 9mm on my nightstand like it knows my name—

Would you come?

Would you drop your fucking coffee and come?

Would you show up—not for the writer, not for the guy with thirty books, not for the guy who makes you laugh or cringe or think—but for the man who hasn’t been held in years?

Would you come sit next to the kind of touch deprivation that cracks bones?

Would you kneel by the couch where I lie every night, back and neck lit up with fire, and tell me that I matter?

Would you press your forehead to mine and say,
"You're not a burden. You're not broken. You're not invisible."

Because for the last 8 years, that hasn’t happened.

You know what’s happened instead?

They laughed.
They said it’s a phase.
They said I’m trying to get laid.
(As if longing to be touched is a fucking punchline.)
They got busy.
They changed the subject.
They said, “Oh, Jake’s just being dramatic again.”

And I swallowed it.
Like I always do.

But tonight I’m not swallowing it.
I’m spitting it out on the blog, right here in black and red:
I need people.

There. I said it.

Not followers.
Not fans.
Not clout.

People.

I need to be held.
I need to be seen.
I need someone to come and sit in the ash with me—not fix me, not therapize me, just be here.

So I’m asking.

If you knew everything…
If you saw what my nights look like…
If you understood that I’m one whisper away from giving up most nights—

Would you come?

Or would you brush me under the carpet like a used tissue and pretend I don’t matter?

I’m not asking to guilt you.

I’m not even asking for myself.

I’m asking for a friend.

A friend who’s exhausted.
Who doesn’t sleep.
Who still writes books you ignore.
Who still shows up for people who never showed up for him.
Who has survived everything—except your indifference.

Would you come?

Because I’m not gonna lie—sometimes the silence is louder than a bullet.

—Jake

#YouAreNotAlone
#MentalHealthMatters
#TouchDeprivationIsReal