We as human, call it wishes that came true, when itâ€™s really coincidence.
Why canâ€™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 canâ€™t cry anymore because nobody cares, or is it because people are so selfish they wonâ€™t help others?
Is it that feeling that breaks you completely until you are on the floor with your head in 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 canâ€™t swallow the lies, because your life is already a lie.
A beautiful lie, where everyone hides using masks. Mask that donâ€™t show your true feelings, your emotions. And this is the life that Iâ€™ve always lived, the mask that I always wore, the lies that we all say. Most of you donâ€™t care about all this, call me dramatic, but itâ€™s the truth, call me liar, but Iâ€™m being realistic. You can never run away; you need an escape.
Yes, I do, I want to be like my neighbor, sheâ€™s never whining, or maybe my friend, heâ€™s so normal, so human.
Am I inhuman for being depressed?
Probably, just because I canâ€™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 Iâ€™m â€œinhuman?â€
Depression is never accepted by society, so I smile for them, laugh with them until my cheeks hurt, until they hurt so much that I can finally cry. Call me a doll in public, so spoiled, carefree, true, happy; just perfect. When the real me is breaking, dying, being torn apart, so imperfect; because that doll was never meant to be.
Some say Iâ€™m bipolar, could it be?
No way. Iâ€™m not depressed, if I am, I havenâ€™t noticed.Â Â This inhuman person, me, is writing in here, so she can get hope because all she wants is someone who can understand her.
She wants to be human.