The world sees what I show them. What they see is their guide. But...
I'm crying on the inside... I'm dying. My face tells another story, one the world around me will accept. They won't have to coddle, fix, help heal or just love; they wouldn't want to. It's better this way, it's what I tell myself.
Cracking the exterior. Letting the reality out, watching the ooze of ill project upwards and letting it fill the air. It's scary, it's shame-filled and guilt-ridden.
I imagine I'm exposed, people wouldn't understand. They wouldn't care, they wouldn't help. Belittling would occur, anger would present itself, I'm scared. I stop and go further in, deeper where it's safe. Right, again I lie to myself.
My despair deepens, the picture perfect is no longer untarnished. Moistened eyes remove the warm glow of feigned happiness. Deep dimples erased as frowns commandeer the territory of the face, tears creating a river following their natural path. And it doesn't seem to want to end. The flood gates have opened, I can't contain them any longer. I have to purge. I feel sick, I feel unable to control myself anymore. But it's necessary.
I was wrong, there are those who comfort me. They shield me while I let go of the hurt, the anger, the frustration. They hold me until it's all OK again. I'm back in the world that sustains me, my focus is clearer, my strength restored.
My real friends surround me, I can go back and take on the world.