Sunday, December 11, 2016

a stranger

I have people, just like you, who care about me. They care if I'm happy, sad, or depressed. The part that makes me so strange is that they think they know me.
They're wrong.
I've grown to be a person who hides who I really am. I hide it behind fake smiles, laughter, and a curtain of hair across my face. I never say what I really think. No one really knows a single thing about me.
No one knows that every time I enter a room, I look for a place to sit that I can see every other person in the room.
No one knows that when someone approaches me to start a conversation my heart starts to pound and I feel dizzy.
No one knows that when someone brushes against me I start to shake and tremble.
No one knows that when I am called on to speak I've already thought through what I'm going to say at least three times before I open my mouth.
No one knows that I don't always have the right answer because when I do occasionally say something, I'm correct. 
No one knows that there isn't a single moment in my life that I'm not analyzing everything you say to me. 
No one knows that I spend hours laying in my bed because I have no motivation to do anything but that. 
No one knows that I haven't felt truly happy in so long I can't remember what it feels like.
No one knows that I can't stand being around people for more than a few hours at a time.
No one knows that there isn't a person on this planet that I can tell anything and everything that goes through my mind.
No one knows that behind my sarcasm, I really do care.
I wonder, will anyone ever really know me?

-a stranger

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