The questions he asks, yet I smile as not to worry the one I love.
"What are those cut marks on your wrists?"
"Just scratches from my dog."
"Why are your eyes blurry?"
"Just got some dust caught in my eyes."
"Why is your smile twitching?"
"I remember something and tried to stop myself from laughing."
"Why are your hands always behind your back?"
"Just a habit. I know how funny I look."
"Why are you always hugging yourself."
"Another habit I have."
"Why are you silent most of the time."
"Daydreaming."
"*tries to make me laugh*"
"Hahahaha. . . . . . ."
My true answers that I hide beneath my smile:
"Those cuts are marks of what I've been through, they are battle scars of my war with death, sanity and depression."
"My eyes are blurry as I try to stop myself from crying, because seeing your faces makes me want to be as happy and normal as you are."
"My smile is twitching because I fucking hate this world."
"My hands are behind my back because it's always me who supports myself. When I feel lonely, I have them behind my back and have them hold each other, imaging someone else holding it and telling me everything is okay, even if it's just me who's helping myself up."
"I hug myself because I imagine someone telling me "I love you and I care for you , you don't have to cry", holding me while cold depression consumes me."
"My silence is my way of screaming for help."
"Fuck. You. Exclamation mark."
YOU ARE READING
Behind The Smile Is A Depressed Person
Non-FictionI don't care if anyone is reading nor about your negative opinions. I posted this to write and express my feelings, so if you think this book is not for you, do what you want.
