Dear you,

Dear past,

Dear present,

Dear future,

I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be truly happy. To not pretend. To simply feel content. When I was in 8th grade my class was having a discussion about happiness. I raised my hand and asked, “Is anyone ever truly, entirely, in a real state of happiness?” but only when everyone in the room was confused did I understand the unsaid answer to this question. And all the days I spent telling myself that I wasn’t alone suddenly became meaningless. And eventually, the nights that I spent sobbing at my ceiling became more real than I could ever put into words. And the nights grew to day and my smile grew faker at each set of the sun. And soon, all I was was tears and a mask, and that was all. And I tried to help myself I swear to you I did. But the sadness felt like apart of me. It felt like I was the only one who wanted to save myself, but yet I was the reason for my sadness. It took effort to even feel slightly happy. So the dark consumed me and I was aware that even the smiles and kind words I saw everyday in the hallway couldn’t save me. Only I could do that.

I actually painted my ceiling a light green color, hazel it was called. And I painted it so that I wasn’t constantly staring into the white oblivion of nothing. So that my ceiling didn’t feel like I was staring in a mirror. So maybe I could restore the color in my own eyes. But I only grew numb. And I felt like I was in a haze. All my problems circling me like flies but all I did was blankly stare ahead. Simply carrying on. And for a while I convinced myself this was happiness. That I was truly happy and that maybe I was no longer the kid in class that confused everyone else with the darkness in my soul. But soon I noticed that my fake smile even fooled myself. I was a victim of my own lies. And I always wondered why no one ever looked me in the eye and said something along the lines of “I can see the sadness in your eyes”. And yes maybe this seems like something that comes from a novel. But we live in a selfish world, and even if you could see the sadness in my eyes no one would take the time to realize it. And no I’m not trying to tell you that you are bad or that you are selfish. But I am telling you that we are. That this world is. That we were raised as small children, not by our parents necessarily but by the world. And we taught each other that no one would save them. And that fact isn’t wrong. What’s wrong is looking at a picture, which contains hundreds of people and only seeing ourselves. What’s wrong is tearing others down simply to build us up. What’s wrong is to make others feel like they are less only because we are insecure. What’s wrong is breaking someone into pieces of broken glass and to walk away without a single scratch. What’s wrong is making someone’s biggest nightmare become a reality because we couldn’t care less. What’s wrong is refusing to help others because we care more about our egos than their life. I want to be able to walk around and see the sadness in people’s eyes- to care enough that I can feel what they feel. No matter the thickness of their mask. And I wish the evidence were wrong. And I wished that the things I heard, the things that I witnessed, the things that I did weren’t viewed as okay. That maybe for once, we wouldn’t have to save ourselves from the very world we broke.

But one day, it hit me.

Maybe we are all alone. This world is entirely misfits. Because no two of us are the same. None of us think the same thoughts. And maybe that’s why we save ourselves. And maybe that’s why it seems like no one can understand. Because we all have our own pair of eyes. And we all see the world through these eyes. And these eyes contain our opinions that were shaped through our experiences. And maybe I didn’t want to be the same as everyone else. Maybe I didn’t want to “fit in”. Maybe I wanted to be different. To accept that I didn’t view the world the same as my friends. That I couldn’t wait around for prince charming to wipe my tears and transform me into someone that always felt happy. That I wouldn’t find friends who could read my mind and understand every word that ever left my lips. But who better to read your mind and to wipe your tears than yourself. And who better to pull yourself from a haze than yourself. And who better to yank off the invisible mask then the person who wears it. Because no one can see an invisible mask, except for the person who hides behind it. And maybe once you establish that you are strong and that you are enough and that you are unique in an unimaginably wonderful way, and then maybe you can invite people into your life who want to understand. People who want to share your pain because they care about you.

I suppose my point of this all is that maybe I don’t want to be completely in a state of happiness all of the time. Because without challenge, I wouldn’t be discovering myself. And without trial, Id be nothing more than another copy. Accept the mistakes of yourself and accept the mistakes of others. So love yourself as much as you love others. And love others as much as you love yourself. And allow others to love you too. Alone we are single people, but together we make up the world. And who better to change the world than the people who made it what it is.


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