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It amazes me how god damned easy it is to be plastic. I find myself doing this, actually, I do it more than anyone else I know. I know why I never talk, and when I do I come off as humorously cynical: because it's easier to play pretend. Sure, I can run around French class all day making jokes about how Napoleon was like a pirate, and scream couche avec toute te monde, it's really quite easy to be so jovial, and I find the more depressed I become, the easier it is. But I'm going to share something with you, I will never show when I am truly happy. When that rare occurence comes....between the years it may happen....I've learned that the best way to deal is to simply remain silent, and act as bitter as ever, that way no one will "jump the gun" to hurt you. It's so easy to hide things in this world. No one knows that I have 76 scars on one arm, because they fade, and because I have jackets that cover the majority of my body. It's not hard. There was a breaking point, and it's gone now. Long gone. But I can never forget it....it's one of those things, one of those beautiful tragic moments that no one knows about, that you don't even admit to yourself until you're lying on the floor wondering if you really are about to die this time, it's just something that stays with you. That keeps you broken glass. It makes life grey, and every touch the touch that could shatter you. I only have one person who is close enough to me for me to tell the things that make me who I am, that have shaped me into what I am, I once had two, but people have a wonderful way of boring into your soul, finding your deepest hole, and shooting you. Sometimes, I wish I was dumb enough to have a god to pray to.



But there is something about life that still makes it wonderful, beautiful. I don't want to hide my pain, I want to turn into beauty. Like the moon. Or snow. It's all so aesthetic, life that is. Every person has a beautiful face, I've realized. I'm not sure if I'm just trying too hard to see how pain etches our features into melancholy beauty, or what, but somehow I've found that we're all so god damned beautiful. And the funny thing is, is that it seems that we all share the same fears...the same inward sadness and depression...and we're all so alone, somehow. I think this is why I paint, draw, play music..it's my way of releasing this pain, and human condition. It's my way of making things beautiful. And they are...they truly are. Behind all of our tears and scars, behind our plastic smiles, behind everything that keeps us from being happy from the inside out, we're still human beings. We say our hearts are made of stone...we paint ourselves grey...we hide our emotions, we tuck them safely away where no one can reach them...but they don't go away. We just choose to let them hide inside our blankets of hurt, where we think they might be safe. It's all sad really....this world of pain and drudgery that we've built around ourselves. I find happiness....but inside that happiness I see pain. I see hurt. I see broken hearts. And the worst thing is...is that there is nothing I can do to stop it. There are no bandaids for this. There is nothing I can do....


But I still love this life.