c l o v e r . l o v e

I hate my own hypocrisy.  

Yesterday was absolutely terrible.  I cried my eyes out and they remained dry for the rest of the day and night.  My throat was sore and my voice is harsh from all the screaming.  Nervous breakdown followed by an asthma attack.  I thought about running away from home again, but I stopped after thinking about my friend worrying about me because we have been talking every night for awhile now.  It’d be strange to him if I wasn’t on tonight without letting him know.  So, I decided to stay home and act if everything was okay.  I wanted to act as if everything was normal and that I was smiling.

Yet, I wanted him to notice that I wasn’t alright.  I wanted him to know that I wasn’t smiling and haven’t been for awhile.  I tried to drop extremely discreet hints that something may have been wrong, but I always quickly covered them up with something stupid.  How could I expect him to figure out with all my fake smiles?  I know I’m a good actress.  I knew he wouldn’t be able to know that I’m sad.  Or is it depressed?  I don’t know.  I don’t want to be some conceited person and say I’m depressed if what I feel and think isn’t depression.  Whatever, I don’t give a shit what to label it as.  I just wanted him to know.  Yet, at the same time, I don’t want him to know that I’m not what I used to be years ago.  

I hate my own hypocrisy.  Do I even know what I want?  I don’t think I do anymore.  I just want things to end.  How nice it would be of one’s existence could be erased whenever desired because simply dying isn’t enough.  Death leaves too much behind.  Then again, I still want to have left something behind… a literary work of some sort.  Any.  I want proof that I was alive.  I need that proof to know that me, Cecille, was actually here.  Hypocrite.  I want to erase my existence and make it so that “Cecille” was never born.  I want to leave something behind that will live on and carry my name after death.  Hypocrite.  I didn’t want to worry him or let him know how I have been feeling for so long.  I want to drop hints and let him ask me if I am alright and comfort me. Hypocrite.

Some might tell me that I should just let him know how I have been feeling, but sometimes some things are better left unsaid. Whether or not he knows, he will always be a precious friend.  Bottle it up, twist it tight. Swallow. Wipe. Curve the lips upward. “Smile.”