What if one day you wake up, and realise that you are sick of the lie that you have been so carefully building up all your life? That you have been so busy in playing this person you thought you should be that you forgot what it was to be you? That perhaps, there is no such things as "you"...just a collation of reactions. Reactions to what others said. Others did. You just went through life, one reaction to another.
Your folks wanted to you to be like every other kid- smart, rich, happy. So you decided to be a rebel, but where is your cause? Your friends wanted you to be more understanding, so you pretended to understand. But what do you want to be? What are you? Is there even a real you? And if there is, then why doesn't this real you ever raise her voice in protest?
You never felt anything. You never hated anyone, never loved anyone. You so desperately wanted to, so you convince yourself it is because you are unique. You can't be what others are. You have different priorities. And no one understands that.
You pretend to be smart. You pretent to be strong. Arrogant. Ambitious, no-nonsense woman.
And in your heart you know you are that 12 year old who used to close the door, play the music loud, and then sit and cry. Just because you thought if someone saw your tears, they would know how stupid and weak you really are.
Some skeletons have this habbit of popping up in your mind when just when you had completely forgotten about them.
No people, I am not depressed. This is, afterall, just another cheap trick to grab attention.
May be I should take Lash's advice. And get me a coffin. Cheers!