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This is what I always was


I don't think anyone could ever understand how messed up and tangled my thoughts become when I'm sad and depressed.

I fear, and I fear fatuously of things that are out of my control. And when I do, a thousand voices haunt me in my head, and they intertwine and overwhelm me. Until I couldn't breathe. Until all I could do is cough and gasp for air. I wonder if anyone else feels that way, to be suffocated by their own thoughts. And it all starts when I'm back in my room, enclosed by walls. White for pessimism, gray for bleakness, and finally, blue for melancholy. 

And that's the thing. I can't hide my emotions away from people and I hate it. I hate how people can just read my expressions so easily and that I'm no different from an open book. That's just it. I didn't choose to be morbid and emotional. I never asked for the twisted privilege of being able to overthink and overreact to almost everything that happens to me. I never wanted to be tormented by my gruesome dreams over and over again. 

But I've had some company, once in a while. And it makes me happy when I'm with a few people who gets it. Although they soon go away. It's an inevitable unending loop but that's life, I guess. When you finally leave your fears and traumas behind, someone comes along and you begin to think things are going to be better. Then sooner or later they sucker punch you and gut you and you drop to the floor wounded and terrified. Suddenly you're back to where you started. And then it happens, again. Again. And again. And that's probably why I put my guard up. Because I went through the same hellish loop too many times. 

I hate that even after what I've been through, I still tell people that I'm okay.

But really, I'm just fine.

You could try to understand, but I don't think anyone could save me from this perdition of mine.

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