It's too hard
I started that other blog because I wanted to be positive. I wanted to put myself out there as someone who was happy, and who was in control of her life.
I've discovered that it only makes things worse when you pretend. All of the intentions are there, I'm just so sick of pretending that everything else is fine.
Now I'm an 18-year-old wreck who can't even tell her closest friends that she's depressed. Every hurt, and every outburst has to be held inside, and it hurts like hell. I can't even tell the person I adore what I'm feeling, because he's never known the darker side of me. I don't want to kill what little I have with this person, so I fake it.
I'm pathetic. He calls me "crazy" as a 'term of endearment', and I hold onto it like something fantastic. I'm a joke, because while I'm trying to keep him positive, I'm looking in the mirror and telling myself how much I'm despised.
I hate myself. A lot of people say that, but I'm pretty sure I mean it. Every thing about me I find repulsive.
And I can't tell anybody, because the only one I want to talk to is far away in Brazil.
I want my sister back. I know she's doing good things, but I need her. She's my best friend, and my favorite person, and the only one who knows everything about me.
God, I don't even know why I'm writing this.
I've discovered that it only makes things worse when you pretend. All of the intentions are there, I'm just so sick of pretending that everything else is fine.
Now I'm an 18-year-old wreck who can't even tell her closest friends that she's depressed. Every hurt, and every outburst has to be held inside, and it hurts like hell. I can't even tell the person I adore what I'm feeling, because he's never known the darker side of me. I don't want to kill what little I have with this person, so I fake it.
I'm pathetic. He calls me "crazy" as a 'term of endearment', and I hold onto it like something fantastic. I'm a joke, because while I'm trying to keep him positive, I'm looking in the mirror and telling myself how much I'm despised.
I hate myself. A lot of people say that, but I'm pretty sure I mean it. Every thing about me I find repulsive.
And I can't tell anybody, because the only one I want to talk to is far away in Brazil.
I want my sister back. I know she's doing good things, but I need her. She's my best friend, and my favorite person, and the only one who knows everything about me.
God, I don't even know why I'm writing this.