Thinking about everything and nothing at the same time is excruciating. My mind keeps leaping back and forth. I only tread on memories I'd rather not have. I rub them off on the edge of my subconscious and move on, or at least I think I do. They will come back to me when I'm enjoying a song, or accidentally exposed to an old familiar smell, or just sitting idly thinking of a better time. In the battlefield that is my head, there is a constant fight that I feel I am steadily losing. My personal demons have almost broken their leashes. The darkness seems to twinkle with delight. The recesses of the hollow rotting part of my subconscious is listing out all the memories that can induce a state of intense agony. They smirk. They know they have the winning card. While all this is happening inside my head, my hands don't know what to do, so they shake. A primitive response, a warning for the body, for me. I make fists and look at things to ram them into. Maybe a wall will suffice, maybe the table... Oooh the kitchen counter. I read somewhere that the brain can process only one pain at a time. I know now why people cut themselves. I won't though. I have seen the marks they leave on the skin and in the eyes. I've wondered why people do it. Now that I know why, I still won't do it. It's beneath me. I have scars I didn't give myself adorning my body, do I need more? No. However, I will punch the wall. It feels good. I will scream. Aaaaarrrghhhh. Phew. That felt good. Am I better now? No. I feel the same along with a low throbbing pain in my right hand. Maybe I should talk to somebody. Who? I love my friends and family but frankly everyone thinks helping is giving advice and not just listening. Then there are the people who think "cheer up" and "stop being sad" are perfectly okay things to say to someone like me. I feel like punching them in the face. Their ignorance bothers me. If I could just "cheer up" I would have bloody done that. So I put on a mask and Crack jokes. I've gotten good at faking it. You can check; any random person I meet would never know I am depressed. I can fake a smile, a mood, crack jokes, be witty, sarcastic and very very empathetic. I know all the right things to say. I'm a people person. I am a hoot. I am a mask, an idea, a show in action. Now you know. Now you know a fraction of what I feel. There is more. So much more. When you read this, I will be thinking about what you are thinking, because I am anxious. Always anxious. Every little thing is a big deal to me. However, I want you to read it. I want you to know that when you love me, you love an illusion and not the real me. You do not know the real me. You love the laughs and the wit and the genial twinkly eyes. That is a part of me, not me, not really. And now I am bored of writing this because my apathy is kicking in. It won't last long,but it's here now. So I am going to send you this and then close my eyes and listen to classic rock songs. I don't know why. Should I end this with a joke? Knock knock.
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