I don't want to sit here anymore, telling you that everything's alright, or worse yet, choking on my words when I admit that it's not. That is the worst. When the darkness comes rushing in - the guilt and shame of knowing I am not ok. You'll all sit there on your imaginary high gilt chairs because you have peace like rivers, you are strong like mountains, you don't fall apart under questions and capsize into oceans of despair when nothing is really even wrong.
You think I am ok because I smile and laugh, joke around, and keep coming back. You don't understand I would rather laugh with people who pretend they're my friends than cry alone in my room, which is what I'd be doing at home.
You say you care about me, and maybe you do, but I can't help but feel that if you did it would be easier to be honest with you. I am so tired of talking about snow and food and who knows what when there is pain and shame and brokenness and oh so many levels of shit inside. If we don't even know how to cry together, are our friendships even real?
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