Fake it til you make it.

[midorismells]

I've been going through the motions, I really have, with all my might.
It's helped a little.

Let's take the small victories when we can.

But
I am diseased.
A little help here and there is good, those moments get me through.

But what of the moments when my entire reality is filling, collapsing my lungs with concrete?
In those moments, I can tell that Time is a man made construct,
because those moments last infinitely longer than the ones where I am somehow able to move my limbs, and flash my eyelids appropriately,
and even though I'm sure others can detect the oddities in such forced behavior,
it seems to be good enough for them.
I am living for them, after all.

I don't know how much longer I can do this. I don't even understand time. I don't know what to do or where to go, and I know that not one single person can answer that for me
even though they will try.
Those beautiful people
wasting all of that try.
I wish I could be what they need me to be.