Essay on Life

Facades

Everybody has one. No one is free from secrets, from lies and curses. You've heard it many times. The person puts up a mask. They fool everyone. Nobody stops to think, however, that maybe the people they see everyday might have ones.

I get very tired of people sometimes. I get annoyed with them too. People see me as a teen with a cheerful, helpful disposition with a loving family. Even though I snark people sometimes, I seem to be overall helpful. I am, in a way. Just it stems deeper.

I don't always help because I want to. Usually, I don't. I help because it keeps people close to me. I don't ever want to be alone again. And I forgive them over and over so that they will not abandon me to myself.

I told you I don't really like people. It's true. I'm not a person who will put up with anybody because I love them. I have hatred that I hide beneath my rolled eyes and smiling face. But I'm not ready to face the world yet, so I wait until they receive the judgment that is their due.

Happy. People say I'm happy all the time. I never cry. I've only cried twice to them. The truth is that I cry every day. Silent tears, when I wish for peace in the world or for a small melody of quiet. And so I will not be pitied, I cover my tears with laughter and my hurt with humorous mockery.

I've heard that laughter is the best medicine. How cruel. Laughter is the music of death. I hope that when I die, I will laugh. I don't laugh because life is funny. I laugh because my world is burning around me slowly, and it is the only way to keep my sanity.

A real smile? I haven't smiled in years. Not truly, anyway. The smile I wear conceals a crumbling heart, turning to ashes inside the shell that is my body. I see others smile too, and I wish I could find the reason to do so again.

I look around me for signs. I find when someone is disconcerted, or when I should hold off my jokes. Others don't have the same gift. Their eyes only exist to scan the top of a person's being, not the inside. I am the only one with these eyes, and I hate and love it. I wish someone would notice my grief, yet I don't. My way of repaying the world for its treatment of me is to wait. I do have much patience. Perhaps that is my one true virtue.

I've waited so long to leave this life, but I hang by a thread. The only thing stopping me from plunging are the people who genuinely seem to care, who don't leave me alone. I know, though, that they will leave me like all the others.

No normal person thinks of how they will die every day. No normal person sees their friends grow old and die in the canvases of their minds. I am not normal. I bury myself in fandoms, in singing, and in silly gestures, because it gives me momentary relief.

I am not afraid of death.

I don't think death is a person, yet the idea of it being one is comforting somehow. Death is our friend. I don't actually fear death, or anything. I welcome it, because it will visit me sooner or later. So I am always ready. I only fear the pain that death may bring before I am covered by the cool blanket of everlasting darkness. No pain. Instant. That's what I wish for.

Wish-wish. I have been wishing since the day I was born. I wished harder, until I realized no wish comes true. Pointless. That's what a wish is.

I dream too. I used to dream lovely, happy dreams. Now my eyes stretch in vain to see colors past the gray dim expanse of the dreamworld. Every day is the same. Why should I care what I do? It all comes to end sometimes. I see too far sometimes, and scare myself.

I hope to drop my mask before I die.

I was called an evil child today by the woman who birthed me. I expected it, and am not hurt by it. The only reason I know I will be safe at home is because my parents each try to be nicer than each other. I don't pretend to understand them, nor do I care to. If they have not explained or told me the whole truth, how can they expect me to simply know it? I cannot trust anyone.

Maybe I am a cursed child. Maybe it is my fault for most everything. Maybe I'm lying to myself everyday, saying nothing matters to me anymore. It does matter. I hide it. I wonder if I could contrive to be taken to the hospital with severe asthma. I wonder if I will ever publish a book. I wonder if anybody really loves me, and isn't using me for their personal gain.

I am a chess piece on a board scattered with scratches and dents. I cannot move anywhere safe. But I am still a pawn, a piece to be ordered around and manipulated. I have no choice but to obey the game's masters.

Sometimes people don't realize their own inner sin.

I cried today because I couldn't do something and no one helped me. There is a reason why I don't cry anymore. It is a sign of weakness to cry. Unless the person understands your grief, they will scorn you. No one should be afraid to shed a tear, but I am. I have to stop crying, before I am hurt by it.

Somehow, people have come to gain abilities. A person may have the power to make people happy, or be likeable. I know a man whose ability is to suck the joy out of what you hold most dear, and a woman who can guilt you into direct obedience to her commands. They rule my life every day , so I have nothing to live for.

Everything around me is a carefully crafted illusion of perfection. Nothing is real. You didn't really know me at all. And yet, I'm sure I loved you in my own way, somehow.
Even though you did not see my pleas for help from the cruelty of my life. Though I suppose I hid it rather well, didn't I?

Happiness is short lived.

A fallen angel. I've read of them. I have never aspired to be one, but I believe I am. Or maybe I was never fallen, or was from the start. At the very least, there was no descent from favor. It just Was.

Everybody leaves me behind.

But I promise that I will come back.

Or maybe I won’t.

I guess I’m not meant to have a happy ever after.

People close to me always end up hurt. I can’t do anything right. I’m just trash. Sure maybe they like me enough to keep me around, but I’m just not worthy to do this anymore. Why does my curse always come back to bite me?

Can’t it leave me alone for a simple minute?

I don’t regret anything in life except for being born. And yes, I don’t have some crippling illness. But I’m ready now.

They won’t kill me. Maybe make me faint or at most land in the hospital. I’m not ready to die yet. But the feeling of pain is beautiful - exhilarating even. And in some way it will help a little.

I like to think that if I was better, if I was perfect, if I was whole, that I might have had a happy life.

The sad thing is, I’ve never been so happy in my life before this year. And yet, I’ve never been so sad. Perhaps it’s because now I have people I can let down. If there’s anything I hate is imperfection.

I guess I hate myself then.

Do you think I would have told you? Did you think I would let you know how I really feel? I want to so badly it’s tearing my soul apart, but I can’t. I won’t.

Please protect the people I love. I think that I’ll change today. One more time. A bit more hope and a bit more sadness.

and yet as cliche as it sounds

i just wish for a better life 

even as my soul whiles away in agony