Crazy is hiding behind fluent sarcasm. It’s the distorted reality you lose yourself in, the dilated pupils you look through, the humor you use to dismiss the things that matter most. Crazy is your confidence that you can spend your life fighting the way things are meant to be, the way they’re meant to happen. It’s looking at life with eyes that say run. It’s beauty in ways you can’t understand. You’re running in circles wondering why the view is the same. You’re living your life with simple hopes to get by. You’re cursed with a brilliant mind you live to resent.
Things are easier when you’re drunk. You have the courage to do things you wouldn’t otherwise dare. You can say what’s on your mind, put voice in your opinions, form relationships, carry extensive conversations. Unfortunately, those are things others can do daily, and easily. Normal is such an impossible thing for you. Your sober self can’t help but wonder, how can people afford to be so vulnerable?
Maybe they’re not vulnerable. Maybe they just have more trust to give, more good to gain. You don’t drink at the bar because it’s a Friday night tradition. You don’t crave a night of the Dougie or a jacket covered in dirt. You don’t like asking the cab driver about his childhood or challenging a group of high-tolerance frat boys to a Jäger bomb battle. You don’t crave the alcohol as much as you crave the freedom it gives you. It’s the sort of existence reality deprives you of. The sort of different you’re better off drowning.
You can’t believe the world can look at you any different then the way your mirror does. Your self-image sits as a devil on your shoulder, whispering critique and hate.
You lay your clothes out the night before, shopping at the same stores they do. You buy extra promising foundation, hoping the haunting remains of your teens will soak into your skin. Your hair won’t grow the way you want it to, your body won’t shape your clothes the way you wish it would. You do everything to hide your imperfections. To erase the things you hate. To battle the impurities you hide behind day after day.
Don’t burden a beautiful mind with ugly thoughts. You’re more then a number on the scale. More then a number of likes on a picture. Be proud to be a paint-by-number and they’ll still look at you like art.
You spend your days left to wonder where you went wrong, what you said in error. The ridiculous regrets that exhaust your mind. If your life has gone wrong and disappointment is constant, realization is the bittersweet battle. You now have the power of hindsight. The ability to use your past to revise your future.
Unfortunately, hindsight stirs anxiety. You over think the things you wish could be over and forgotten about. You think everyone remembers your mistakes without realizing they’re trying to erase their own. It’s an uneasy circle. You must choose to take control of your life or live in a distorted reality. You must never take for granted the power of a second or the power of a second chance.
You don’t hate life as much as you think you do. You hate that there are people who make it look easy. They tell you not to worry; they tell you everyone has their own problems. Still, you resent the ones who get an extra Friday night with their friends, who celebrated a holiday with more cheer then you, whose Instagram accounts are filled with more smiles then yours. Of course they’ve been sad, and they’ve felt their share of pain but they don’t sacrifice the time you do. It’s not that you want a life without rain; you just want to know you’re not the only one getting wet.