When peole asks me if I’m okay, even close friends, I generally tell them that I’m fine even when I’m severely depressed. I will say the same to a psycharitrist. I only do this because I don’t want my close ones worry about me unnecessarily- I don’t want em to see that side of me. I can be ratjer violent if I uncontrol myself, violent in a sense to myself, to harm myself, till it affects others. My only true response is through writing- even my sketches are fake. FAKEFAKEFAKE.
The true state of muself is uncontrollable- I can’t control it. I will never understand that side of me. I will observe from the outside- from a distant mirrored wall. Even so it will remain untouched, untainted, and indifferent to me.
I live in the writer’s world for a reason to be- their views and beliefs are what keeps me living. It shadows over me like a gliding hand.