I try to hide my insecurities, my hopelessness. I don’t know how to release them all. I hide my depression. I mean, I guess there are signs. But I’m pretty sure I’ve hid all signs of ever thinking about suicide. I cut, it will definitely show. So it would be very small. I’d hurt myself. But I bruise easily. There’s only so much you can attribute to clumsiness.  I can hide little bruises, little things, but never anything big.

I like to project myself as a sunny person, so no one must know how screwed I am. My disposition is “sunny”. I don’t talk much, just smile and listen. And then I’d think “fuck, fuck, fuck”. I’m fucked. The only place I can think of that is safe to do anything to is my head. And that’s the most fucked up place. Maybe I should just bang my head on concrete wall.