We as human, call it wishes that came true, when it’s really coincidence. Why can’t I cry ? Am I sick ? Probably, what will doctors say ? Depression ? Ha! I wish, what is pain for you ? Do you feel the same as I do ? Is it some pressure on your head when your neck and shoulder are tensed up, when you can’t cry anymore because nobody cares, or is it because people are so selfish they won’t help others ? Is it that feeling that breaks you completly till you are on the floor with head on your hands smoothing the pain in your temples ? Or could it possibly be the one that is too much to handle to even fake a smile, that when you walk you tremble, when you smile it fades, when you can’t swallow the lies, because your life is already a lie. A beautiful lie, where everyone hides using masks. Mask that don’t show your true feelings, your emotions. And this is the life that I’ve always lived, the mask that I always wore, the lies that we all say. Most of you don’t care about all this, call me dramatic, but it’s the truth, call me liar, but I’m been realistic. You can never run away; you need an escape. Yes, I do, I want to be like my neighbor, she’s never whinning, or maybe my friend he’s so normal, so human. Am I unhuman for been, depressed ? Probably, just because I can’t react with my emotions anymore, not laughing, smiling, crying, frowning. Not even my feelings, no joy, neither anger, nor happiness. I guess, at least I can give small faint smiles, better than nothing. Are you inhuman too ?Do you feel the same as I do? Why do I feel like this ? How could I not when I’m “inhuman” depression is never accepted by society, so I smile for them, laugh with them till my cheeks hurt, till they hurt so much, that I can finally cry. Call me a doll in public, so spoiled, perfect, true, happy, just perfect. When the real me is breaking, dying, torned appart, so unperfect; because that doll was never ment to be. Some say I’m bipolar, could it be ? No way. I’m not depressed, if I am, I haven’t noticed. This inhuman person, me, is writing inn here, so she can get hope because all she wants is someone who can understand her, she wants to be human.
1 comment
We, the inhumans among the faceless masses, will never belong in this place so selfishly hoarded by our (un)fortunate counterparts. Long have I felt vastly apart from those that are in actuality no more than a foot away, the plastic people that surround me. Are they talking? Possibly. Theres sound and words but they carry no meaning, might as well be a foreign language. But I put on the fake smile, the mask that over the years has sucked out what was inside, leaving a hollow husk in its wake. Ive gotten so good. No one will see it coming when the courage is finally mustered to rip it off and show everyone the monster it was hiding all along. And when the masquerade ends, when the curtain falls on this never-ending play, and my life comes crashing down around it, i’ll be able to end it with a smile, knowing that I didnt spend my whole life as one of them. You’re right, we are inhuman, but when I look around at the so called “humanity” I find myself desiring less and less to be a part of it.
Believe me I understand all too well the unbearable curse of inhumanity and the masks that come along with it. You’re not alone.