so many happy people

Look around you. Aren’t you jealous? Am I? Probably. Why them, why not me? What’s so different about them? Why can’t we smile like them? It’s not even that hard, faking a smile and laughing way too hard at a joke that’s not even funny and hiding under the covers to cry, your hand plastered on your mouth to muffle the sounds. So easy. You’ve done it so many times. I hate crying. But it’s comfortable. It’s a feeling I know, the pain in my chest and the tears on my cheeks. It’s reassuring, knowing I’m still hurting, knowing I’m still the same. I’m too afraid to be happy. So why am I jealous of them? Being happy means being even more sad when I close the door behind me. When I get rid of my clothes, of my shoes, of my smile. First: cry even harder than before. Second: sleep even longer than before. And again, and again, and again. It’s a never-ending cycle. I’d never wish that to anyone. There are so many happy people out there and I’m jealous and I don’t want them to feel like this. I don’t want them to feel like I feel. They’re so happy it could break them. They love their friends, their family, their dog, their school, their appearance, their personality, their job, their partner, their house, their kids, their life. I hope you’re one of them, it’s been five years, I hope you can make me jealous.