I
am two seconds away from a mental breakdown. But instead of telling other
people what has been bothering me, instead of listing out the bullshit that the
universe has thrown at me during the past few months to gain sympathy or some
sort of relief, I act like I am okay. I don’t mumble that I am fine in a way that clearly shows that the opposite is true. I
put on a better act than that. I smile,
I laugh, I tell stories about the fun times I have had with friends. I post
pictures to Instagram that show me living my best life, smiling at the camera,
looking like I have it all together, like I am not slowly ripping apart at the
seams.
After
all, if I laugh about how I have no friends and no family and no future, then
people won’t pity me. They might not even realize that I am telling the truth.
When I make dark, sarcastic jokes about how I just want to run away from life
and never come back, they are mostly just my thoughts. But sometimes, I mean
it, I want to just book a ticket and get my passport and never return again.
But
instead of telling anyone that the stress is eating me alive and I am not sure
how much longer I can take it, I laugh about it all. I mask them behind my
smile. I have to laugh about everything that happens to me, because what is the
alternative? I have spent enough nights crying in my bed. I have spent enough
nights whining about how it isn’t fair. None of that helps. When the world
throws another shit at me, when it gives me yet another thing to stress about,
I don’t let the tears fall anymore. I just laugh, because I expect it. Because of course that would happen to me,
and that my life has turned into one big joke.