I’m out during the day, and everything is fine. I put on a smile, I laugh loud like normal, I’m up and ready for conversation, I’m friendly, I make jokes and I’m always up for going out to do something.
I wake up in the morning with hope. I wake up with a bright, open mind for the day… as much as one can do when they wake up. Because hope is the one thing that is keeping my feet hitting the ground. Hope is what I am feeding off of. Because as soon as night comes, and I am home… all the bubbles, all the smiles, all the good feelings, they seem to disappear.
Then, an empty void in me takes over. I’m not necessarily sad, I’m just… empty. I don’t have much feelings. Or maybe I do. Maybe it’s a mix of loneliness, of no security, no love, of being sad, of being over everything. I’m just over it. Over everything these days. I sit in my room watching TV, realizing how quiet I am inside. I’m not normally quiet inside. For me, what normal is, is thoughts, feelings, songs, dances, jokes, talking to myself, thoughts buzzing like bees in a hive 24/7, but I don’t feel any of that any more when I’m by myself. It’s hard. A piece of me is gone. I don’t know where or how I lost it,
I’m too quiet inside. I don’t like it.
I was asked the other day what fun things I like to do… I couldn’t think of any.
I don’t feel depressed, because I can wake up in the morning. I can do things during the day. I do them with a smile on my face, although deep down I am quiet. During the day, I live off of hope. Hope. Hope. Hope. Hope that one day it all gets better.
I crave something in its simplest form, and I think it’s love.
I crave stability.
I crave somebody to talk to at the end of the day.
I crave a shoulder to lean my head on.
A hand to hold.
A kiss on the forehead.
I crave a person who craves me.
But is this the actual reason for the quiet inside of me? Or is this because of the quiet inside of me?
With all the love in my body,