I guess I can understand why you went to sleep.
It's because you gotta calm your mind, right? Though I can't understand how you can sleep. No, I don't know a thing, actually - I still don't understand you all that well. And I'm thinking, you don't know most of me, either.
I think I need to tell you just how fucked-up I am, because you don't know the half of it. I haven't been intentionally hiding it from you; I've been keeping it secret from everybody because people never understand. People who aren't depressed don't know what it's like to feel like you want to die all the time. And yes, you could argue that truly depressed people aren't really able to keep it inside, but I can't believe that I'm not in a shit hole. Sometimes I feel like I have two personalities: not in a bipolar-way, more of a shell that I'm able to keep up. A shell that I've constructed so long ago that I've perfected the art of making people believe that I'm perfectly okay. But it's hollow. And I feel empty.
So I guess that's how I function. Because while people can take the occasional down days, they obviously do not want to hang around others who are in a gloomy mood 24/7. The world doesn't work that way. I hide all of this simply to prevent those complications and unecessary pain. People don't have to see my burden. It may be a horrible one, but as long as I can carry it, I will - it's not like there will really be anyone who'll care enough to help me. Truly help me, you understand, not make fun of me behind my back or get tired of having to deal with this shit everyday because they chose to care about me or simply just pity me from afar. Because, again, it's so hard for people to understand that this really is horrible - I may not be dying from hunger or sickness or anything, but it's insane to be feeling like shit in one way or another all the time. It's unbearable to be living. That's what it feels like. It's horrible simply because you don't know where the root of all this comes from. How the fuck do you fight against something you feel all the damn time without reason?
Happiness is a choice, you say, but there is just no way. It's not that easy to say it. This is something I have been fighting day in, day out for years - I have tried to be happy; tried to immerse myself in things that I think would make me happy, but at the end of it all I'm an insecure, immature little girl. I am a bitch. I am nothing.
And see, eventually you will notice this side of me. My shell isn't perfect; you'll see through the cracks. And even if you don't, I'm bound to break someday. I'm bound to show you, and you're bound to react in some way I don't want to imagine. It's hard dealing with this. It'll be hard for you, as well.
I guess it wouldn't be so bad for you if you just dumped me here and now. It might be a cause of embarrassment (me to my parents and you to your family and us to the rest of the world), but what's that temporary discomfort compared to a lifetime of putting up with me? You can leave me, and it will hurt the fuck out of me because I love you, but I don't deserve you anyway because I'm worthless. I'm horribly fucked up, aside from that bitch thing I just did. I really am.