There is much that is unknown. They do not understand the fears that plague you, that present themselves to you in a living nightmare. Fears of losing what is precious. Fear of moving forward with regrets.
You imagine yourself in twenty years, driving down the open road, with your memories splattered across the windshield. They bare your soul to you, making certain that you remember all that you had, and all that you didn't.
People think you strong, for they cannot see what it is that breaks you; the invisible force that presses down with every second. They'll love and support, but they won't understand the pain.
Nor will they ever understand the desires. What you want most in this world is what you fear losing. You need to cling to it with every breath, too tightly, as thought it might disappear. You yearn for someone to steal the pain away, to calm the fears, to stop the voices that tell you not to go on.
They have the happiness you believe unattainable, therefore they don't understand the worry, the helplessness, the hopeless outlook on life which you possess. You guard yourself too much in that fortress you have built to keep you from the world.
You express it all in words; in your imperfect diary filled with imperfect thoughts of an imperfect world. Yet you fear that someone might read it one day, that they might understand. So I'll take it from you, and burn it into dust, so that you might live your life free from the cage you have locked yourself in. Then I will fade into obscurity.