I'm not writing this to get attention.
In fact, I know no one will read this.
At least, I hope no one will read this.
I'm writing this to get it off of my chest.
I'm writing here because I'm the least exposed here.
If you want to mock me using what's written here, get the ******** out. Or I will find a way to find you, find you, and get back at you.
This is my last year's confession.
I wear a mask.
It's a pink-eyeshadowed, blue-nosed, red-mouthed, clown mask. It comes with a wig of wild, curly pink hair and fake happiness.
Underneath the mask, lies a face few would see.
Those who will never even see the mask and those who stayed with me even when it slipped. Those I am anonymous to and those who refuse to let me die.
Underneath the mask, lies a scarred, scorched face, marked for eternity by the harsh, ruthless, flaming slap of reality.
Underneath the mask, there are brown, bloodshot eyes, a dripping, red nose, a pale mouth and deep, untreatable sadness.
Underneath the mask, lies a disgusting hatred to many things I'm supposed to love, and things I deeply, truly love as well.
Underneath the mask, the depression never gone away.
Underneath the mask, I welcome any chance of death, as slim as it might be.
Underneath the mask, lies a face trying so hard yet in as subtly as possible to drive those who care for it away, so it may die peacefully.
Underneath the face, lies a small, dysfunctional brain, capable of only maintaining a facade of working semi-properly.
Under the face, lies a heart, broken and mended countless times, and not by romance, but by stripped naivete, by adolescence.
The heart, the face and the mask make up for an adult nobody truly loves. They just pretend because they don't have the heart to dump her. Or because they know not dumping her will make her suffer even worse.