Fine
Dear Journal,
Sometimes my facade slips, and my smile falls a little bit, and people ask me if I'm okay. I always say I'm fine. I'm never fine. I wish, just once, someone would say, 'Don't lie' or 'Are you sure?' or 'You don't look okay', but no one ever does. It's my fault. I shouldn't complain. I don't have to be fake, but the pretense is all I know. The 8 hours of school through which I smiles protects a small part of my sanity; knowing that I can still pull off 'happy' makes being sad a little less eternal. It's almost as if as long as they have this wholesome, sunny, full of life picture of me, I can still pretend that I can still be that person, even though that's a lie. I can never be that person again.
Sometimes my facade slips, and my smile falls a little bit, and people ask me if I'm okay. I always say I'm fine. I'm never fine. I wish, just once, someone would say, 'Don't lie' or 'Are you sure?' or 'You don't look okay', but no one ever does. It's my fault. I shouldn't complain. I don't have to be fake, but the pretense is all I know. The 8 hours of school through which I smiles protects a small part of my sanity; knowing that I can still pull off 'happy' makes being sad a little less eternal. It's almost as if as long as they have this wholesome, sunny, full of life picture of me, I can still pretend that I can still be that person, even though that's a lie. I can never be that person again.
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