Sickness

You don’t understand what it’s really like to be sick. That feeling in your stomach even if you’re not hungry. Or your head hurting because of overflowing emotions. It’s not an everyday sickness. It’s not like throwing up or having the flu, it hurts much, much more. It’s a pain that can’t be understood until you feel it. It eats you from inside out. It feeds off negative energy. And when you're sad, it stomps you down into the earth, into the hot magma, until you burn alive. Then, and only then do you realize it’s you, you're the one hurting yourself. It was your fault.
It hurts even more when you have to wipe a smile on everyday and pretend your life is perfect. Pretend that you're a perfect person, and everything goes according to plan. That everything is perfect. That’s what they think; it’s what they believe you feel. But it’s not true. It never is. When you look for a way out, a door into reality, the pain urges you to stay, stay into darkness. You follow the closest instinct. You sit in a corner and cry, cry until you're nothing but a dried corpse. The pain has killed you, and there’s nothing left but ashes blowing in the wind.