in too deep.

being the bigger person

I tried to be the bigger person. I tried to right the wrongs. But what did that change? I guess I felt good, but I didn't last. It never last's. Im still stuck here, the same place I have been stuck in for the last two years. My feet have been sucked down to the ground, I am incapable of escaping. Wherever I walk, I walk through a heavy, black tar. It's like trying to run through water, it pushes my feet back so I can't catch speed.

Sometimes my mind wanders, into a weightless fog. And im in this thin ivory blanket. Whilst in this fog, I imagine things and, because im alone, no one can criticize me. It's nice to have a place of privacy, a sanctuary, but it drives me crazy, being on my own. But, I can't stand being in crowds. I don't understand myself.

Although 'getting better' sounds exceptionally decent, I don't want to get better. I wouldn't know what to do with myself if I didn't have these feelings. I wouldn't be as descriptive, I would be as mysterious. I can be happy, but I just can't picture myself being good at anything if I was normal. I can't dance, I can't do math, I can't write a good essay and I just can't do anything without this agony.

I am so corrupt with discomfort that I don't feel comfort anywhere. I ache when someone talks to me, my head throbs when I think about all of my mistakes; my eyes get sore when I see everyone else's happiness, but im not jealous. Im not jealous of their happiness; there is no way to tell that it's true. People mistake happiness for my distress. I am good and putting on a show: smiling, laughing, joking, (etc.) but still, fake happiness is the worst sadness.

And lately, that's the only kind I have.