I’m easily devastated by life. Perhaps I’m just too sensitive for my own good.
When I was younger, I was completely unaffected by everything that happened around me. I was cold; clichéd, I know, but it’s true. I had not been directly affected by life’s crueler aspects and did not understand why death and depression were so paralyzing. Then, things changed. Someone close to me perished and I became very acquainted with that paralyzing depression. Strange to think it was nearly a year ago…
When someone cries, I cry with them. When someone is angered, I become filled with frustration. When someone is in pain, I find myself clutching onto their mirrored wound. It’s as if I’ve developed some form of empathy –the sort that should only exist in cartoons and comic books. The kind that cripples you.
I use to always be happy; so what happened?
Who decided that anger and sadness should replace such splendor?
It’s lame –yes, lame. My foundation has a crack in it so how can anyone expect to rely on me? If they lean to hard I’m bound to crumble.
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