they say, “the happiest people are the saddest.” i‘m not happy. i‘m just really really sad, but if you met me in real life or saw me with friends, i‘d be the one cracking jokes, shouting, or doing weird things. anything to see a smile on their face. anything.  i always questioned myself why i did so, why i chose to make a fool of myself when something inside me is killing me, each forced laugh was just another stab. another emotional stab that felt so real. another stab that brought me down to the ground. another stab. more stabs. one more stab. two more. three is not enough. make it four. no, make it a hundred. 

i just wonder: does someone know? does that person keep tabs on my life? hey! are you reading this? is it fun? is it fun to watch me fall apart day after day? do you like seeing me cry at the end of the day? do you like seeing me bleed? 

i do. i sure do.