It's the kind of mood when nothing matters anymore. You are just so tired and done with everything, you just stop caring. Laying on the floor, exhausted, beaten by life. You have no strength to do the art that always helped in crisis times, no will to write, so you push through and force the words out of your mouth onto paper just so you feel a little bit less useless. You want to do things, want to be great, but are just a prisoner of your twisted mind. You try to get attention, try to look for purpose, but it's fading. You feel guilty for acting as such a drama queen, such a baby, so annoying and useless for anything but beatings and a dumpster for other people's emotions. When in public you wear a mask- always smiling clown, who's always okay, who's default emotion is happiness. For wearing the mask everyone does start to treat you like a clown, they believe your fake smile, the overly sweet kindness of a person who's always willing to help, or at least acts like that. They think it's because you're thick skinned- they insult you, destroy you, burn, break, bend, torture. All that just because they know you'll keep smiling at them, you'll keep pretending. They want you to break, but it's too late because you're already broken, nothing can make it worse at this point. They want you to fall apart, to show the ugly side that hides under the mask, but you're not like that, you can go on forever- that's what makes you such a great actor after all. You're a phantom hiding in the shade of a huge Paris theater. You hide, and cry and secretly love, but nobody needs that pathetic love of yours- they seek to fulfill their own desires, they have no time to listen, no time to love, to care, to help... Sometimes a thought creeps in, it's scary, dark, destructing. It wants to end you, leave you burn... But no matter how loud and attractive the idea sounds now, you close your eyes, take a deep breath, you remember all the good, bad, sweet, bitter, loving, hating, brave, frightened, crazy, calm and most favorite moments that life gave you. It helps, because now you want to go on, now you have a will to live. Those moments. You want more, only by living you'll get more of those moments, only then you can stick to them. They save, protect you, keep you sane. You're feeling again, maybe not the happiest, not the brightest, but you're feeling, you're alive, you're important. You remember that time you laughed at a stupid joke, smiled at a cute dog passing by, couldn't hold back the tears of happiness because someone you loved finally got better and you were worried sick they never would.