It's not easy to explain. I'm happy, but I'm not. I'm sad, but I'm not. I'm mad, but I'm not. I'm alot of things, yet I am also nothing. I laugh so easily, yet I hide a frown along with it. It feels as though a mask is glued to my face and I can't tear it off.
I laugh when I'm happy. I laugh when I'm sad. I laugh when I'm mad. I laugh when I'm scared. I laugh all of the time. I laugh to stop myself from crying. I laugh because that's more attractive. I laugh because people rather see a smile than tears.
When I laugh, however, I get this strange feeling every once in a while. This feeling that everyone is watching me with disgust. I don't understand why I get this feeling, but I welcome it.
I wait for it, at least once, every single day. Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. That strange feeling can come to me whenever I'm walking, running, smiling, sitting, blinking, or even breathing. "I'm walking too slow and stumbling, aren't I?"
"I'm running with ragdoll legs still." "My smile is uneven and strange." "My thighs cover the whole seat. My thighs are big. Maybe if I cross my legs it'll be okay. Why are they looking? Did I do this wrong, too? How is that even possible?"
"I blink too much. I look weird when I blink, don't I?" "I breathe too fast. I breathe too loud. Please, stop staring at me. I haven't done anything. Am I making too much noise? I'm just breathing. Please stop watching me. Do you want me to stop breathing?"
I welcome feelings like this because they tell the truth. They don't hide anything from me. I am reminded that this is what I think about myself, therefore this is how I am.
I don't want anyone else to ever feel this way. That's why I try to take the pain from everyone. I try to make them open up to me. I try to gain their trust. I try to make them tell me all of their problems because that's the only way I can take the pain. I guess in a way, I break them. I break those poor people to where they think they can tell me anything.
We end up getting close because of that. Scary, right? Eventually, I take their pain away and I walk away, aching. I lay in bed that night and ache mentally and physically. That person, however, might text me saying how good their night is. They never do.
So I work harder. I work until I can't feel my arms and when I fall in bed that night, I stare up at the ceiling and just think. I think of what I've done. I think to myself, "I helped them."
With pain comes thoughts and feelings, so I continue to think. "They don't know. Maybe they do. Maybe they know that I'm a human punching bag. Oh, what if they'd punch me? More pain to take. And I would laugh. My eyes would turn red and tears could possibly fall, but I'd laugh. I'd walk away from that and know that their pain is gone and it's now mine."
I end up going to sleep eventually and wake up in the morning with no memory of those thoughts. I might go to school and see everyone and finally remember that I need more of their pain. It'll be okay as long as everyone around me stops hurting. As long as everyone is having fun with others, it'll be okay.
I just want everything to finally be okay. Is that so wrong?