When your life is going downhill, you can look back and think how you aligned all the pinholes at various moments to arrive at this situation.
You can put in a card with a different pin hole to stop yourself hurtling down the path to suicide but you keep on rushing down nevertheless.
You utter cries for help, sometimes explicitly, but you’re either brushed aside casually or you are so fucking depressed for so fucking lot that they think you just “like” to cry.
Then even the self help websites tell you that you like to feel “self-pity” and that’s the worst. Add another black mark to the various bad things about you.
The only person that holds the card to stop all this is you.
The Secret Diary of J. Alfred Prufrock 