Dear me,


When you meet people, have they met you? How long will it be before these new friends know who you really are. Maybe never. Maybe right away if you don't care what they think. Is it possible to have a close friendship when no mutual disclosure takes place? Sure, they know a few secrets, but do they know the emotion that chokes you up, everytime you think about them? They don't know how great you are at slapping on a smile when all you want to do is cry. That probably isn't something to be proud of. Is the repression worth it? You're scared you'll be judged so harshly. It's because you judge others with such cruelty. Why? Because they don't fake a positive attitude as well as you do? Maybe they'd be vicious. Maybe not, but why take the risk? Sarcasm is remarkably easier than being real. Everyday, there's so much space you're wasting. Just. By. Being there. Your parents say the mean so much. And they believe it, but they'll never learn to show it. Never know you need them to. They don't realize how often you go out of your way so a lot won't be asked of them. I hope being a good person is contagious. I wish being a bad person wasn't more contagious. They don't make vitamins for that. We've got a habit of only saying the bad side of things. Not fishing for sympathy. Just easier to focus on. More of a tendency for the bad to resonate in your head. You only notice the good things when you don't have them. Maybe that's everyone. Everyone I know. Good things come to an end at any given moment. Before you even knew it was there. And when you did, no matter how hard you held onto them. I don't think it's true what they say. It's possible to love others even if you don't love yourself. You love them for accomplishing something you couldn't. Being something you only succeeded at trying. All of these problems are petty. Unnecessary angst is overwhelming and I don't want to turn to it everytime I pick up a pen.