i'm so sad, but it's like an under-the-radar sad. because it feels like nobody knows and sometimes even i forget it. but it's always there. it's always lingering right in the back corner of my mind, scratching my scull and spreading itself like a disease. it's always reminding me that i am nothing and my life is meaningless. that i am not good enough and that it would all be easier if i was gone. it reminds me that people don't want me around. it convinces, and sometimes forces me, to never leave my house.
sometimes, my mind is tired and it takes over my consciousness, and i can't just push it away. sometimes it has the ability to make me do things i don't want to do, and not let me do things i wish i could.
and it's almost funny because i feel like i'm fighting a constant battle in my mind and nobody can see. and i don't let them see. often i can win the battle and push it back into it's corner of my mind. and a lot of the time, i can smile, and laugh, and even make a joke. i can try my hardest to keep up a conversation and i listen to people. and i look so ordinarily okay. so completely normal and so blandly carefree. and yet, it's always there. i am never truly happy and i am never truly carefree. whenever i talk to someone it's never about me and whenever i smile it's always to feel accepted, and to feel normal.

and i want people to know but i also really don't because who am i to say that the battle in my mind is anyone else's business, or problem? who am i to tarnish others with my utter sorrow when their battles just may be wars? who am i to consider a disease i don't even believe in?
because on one hand i know the logic, and i know nothing is sitting in my mind, telling me things and poisoning my happiness. nothing is capable of that other than my own thought, my own consciousness. it is my coping mechanism - my excuse - to despair in self pity. to do and love nothing, and to have a reason. i am not strong for "dealing" with it, i am weak for thinking it even exists, let alone in my own mind. it is utterly delusional, and deep down, i know it.
but, on the other hand - usually when it has infested the majority of my mind, usually when i am alone, when i stop pretending - i cannot fathom that this feeling is, in any way, normal. it is the lowest possible state of mind. it is worse than death. it simply is not an option that all humans feel this way. like their life is a ship destined to sink. and their mind is a tree full of termites, an inevitable destruction, from the inside out.
and after a week or more, the feeling passes and i'm reasonably okay again. and i question my mind and my prior worries. it is easy to dismiss my previous anguish, to forget it ever happened. to remind myself i am indeed normal and it must have all been some dramatic overreaction to achieve self pity. and i don't seek help because it seems silly.
until a wave hits again. and i'm drowning and falling and i can't take a breath and i'm sinking, i'm drowning, and i can't say a word. i'm dying, i'm suffocating under my own despair, and i'm screaming inside, but even i can't hear, and i do all i can to stay afloat, simply because mum couldn't live if i gave up. my life is like an ocean and there's no land in sight, and there's no one to help and i don't have a boat. and it's either raining or raining harder, and there's no end game. there's no way out than surrendering to the ocean - which is not an option - so each day is a struggle to stay afloat and i know tomorrow will be another struggle, and so will the day after. and there's no escape. it makes giving in seem so so delightful. it's all i ever want.