Remember the date August the 8th

Every person who’s a consistent character in my short story has asked me what’s wrong, we’re worried.

I got confronted by my parents, being told to go to counciling because I’m not being me.

Except this is me, or an aspect. I may wear my human face day to day but sometimes it tears and the ugly seeps out.

I tell them I’m fine, and I am. I’m not going anywhere but I’m dead inside. It’s been a while since it was this bad.

All the stuff that normally works doesn’t.

So now I’m just riding it out.

I’ll never be happy, and not angry and able to have intimate relationships with people. It’s not made for me.

I’ll never be content.

Instead I’ll keep them at arms length and they’ll get to know my my character’s mask well, they may even like him.

But it’s a character.

I’m sorry emotional, but emotions, with waves of lows and highs that people can’t manage. I don’t know how I manage but I do.

From the happiest person you’ve ever seen to the most malcontent in 60 seconds.

God, how can people keep me in there lives. Ha, like I let them in the first place.

August 8th was a terrible day. No conclusions, not movement forward.

Weeks of sleepless nights leading up to an anticlimactic decisionless day.

It was like eating clay and having no opinion about eating clay

I’m drinking to much but it’s the only way I’ll sleep.

I’m not eating, I’m not sleeping and I’m not feeling.

I can’t keep focused. I feel voiceless.

Everyone says I’m here if you need to talk, but I don’t know why I’m sad, angry and tired.