ESCAPE FROM REALITY.

Chapter 3.

I've forgotten. This isn't something I do daily, writing my personal story. I've been hurting more than usual, anyways. I don't know how I feel half the time. It's either emptiness, or pain. And the pain is so deep that I don't want to continue living anymore, because of how much it is to take on. Some days, it feels like I'm carrying the world on my back. Others, I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing. And there are honestly not many words to explain it, because it is literally, nothing.

Some days, I'm beautiful. I'm as beautiful as a sunset, the colors radiating the skies. I'm as beautiful as a simple thing, that finds beauty in every way. My eyes, are golden brown in in the sun. My skin, is the color of caramel. My hair, is jet black with cinnamon streaks running through them, falling down my shoulders in curls. I feel almost majestic. Other days, nothing is beautiful. It is black and white, but dull. My memories fade. Writing is the only way to get it out, and I'll explain why only some days I feel beautiful. Other days, I am nothing. Like I've stated before, I feel nothing. My physical appearance doesn't mean anything to me, no matter how many times I can stand before my mirror saying, "I am beautiful." Because honestly, I'm just lying when I say that. 

Also. No matter how many times I try to do good deeds, or do something that others will benefit from, I don't get anything in return. I get ignored. I get hurt. I get pushed till I cannot stand anything anymore. Even the ones I love the most, hurt me in the end. And right now,  I can't even bring myself to write anymore, because of how hurt I am. For a moment, it almost feels like someone can love you, and truly mean it. For a moment, it feels like you can trust, love, cherish that someone.. until they leave you. Completely and utterly destroy you. Your heart, your mind, your everything can be destroyed in less than a minute, while that other person won't care. 

I'm sorry this is such a long chapter. I just don't know how much longer I can hold on for. This is getting harder and harder by the minute, and even writing is getting more difficult. I have my story to tell, but this story soon may end. I don't know, honestly. I've never been great at writing, anyways. Farewell for now, and if I never come back, you know where I am.