I wonder if you can be too happy

Yesterday was a good day. It was a great day. We played outside a lot. I love playing outside.

We took a lot of pictures.

Later that night, as I was uploading those pictures to facebook, one of them in particular caught my eye. It's a picture of me with a ladybug on my nose, and I'm laughing. I just look so...happy. You can see it in my face, my smile, my eyes. I look completely happy.

See, the funny thing is, I wasn't going to let myself get that happy here. I was going to be guarded, keep everything safe. I honestly didn't think I could be that happy again.

Around new people, I'm shy. Shy, quiet, and reserved. And yet...after, what, 3 months, maybe less, of knowing these girls, they drag me out to the point that I can look like THAT in real life. Not faking. I couldn't fake that look if my life depended on it.

But now I'm wondering, is it ok to be that happy? Is it fair?

Even more so, is it ok to want to be?

Fighting for nothing?

Sometimes we don't realize how fragile people are. How one little word can burn at somebody for hours and hours. How one little event can tear their entire life apart. How one little decision made by you can change everything.

Sometimes we don't realize how tough people are. How they can put up with so much and yet have so little. How they can keep going, no matter what has happened. How they can be there for those they love even if they are having a hard time themselves.


Most people don't notice. Most people just can't see. They can't see anything. There is a cloud, a blur, something marring their vision.

It covers up everything going on around them, making them blind. Blind, even though they can see. Blind, because they can see.

Some people choose to be blind. Why would you choose to be blind? It makes everything easier for you. It makes everything harder for everyone else. It makes the world harder. It makes everything harder for you.

Some people try to make things better. They do all sorts of things, use different methods, teachings, beliefs. Most of them are wrong. I don't say anything because I don't know what's right. But they are wrong.

And it makes everything worse. It makes it harder to deal with. And the people that are so fragile start to strain under the pressure. But they are tough. They don't break. They keep going and try hard to live it out. But all through it, they wish somebody could be there for them who knows, who understands. They don't realize that most people do. They, too, are blind.

And that is why I can't sleep.

I don't like sleeping.

If I'm sleeping, it means I can't do anything. I can't help. I stay up all night and talk to people, try to see what's wrong, try to help with their problems, just letting them talk. Sometimes that's all someone needs, a person to listen. Someone who cares. I don't know who you are or why you are reading my blog at this moment in time, but let me tell you, I care. I would die for you. Maybe you're a friend, someone I hardly know, someone I've never met, someone I never will meet. It doesn't matter. I care.

And that's why I don't sleep. That's why I can't sleep. There is too much going on. Too much that needs to be fixed. Too much that can't be fixed.

It is too much. We can't fix this world. We can't fix ourselves. We're too broken. Everything is broken.

Look around you. Look for the closest person to you. They are so broken. There is so much under that tough exterior that they fight to hide.

You are broken.

I am broken.

I am broken. And yet here I am, trying to fix things. It sounds ridiculous. Something broken trying to fix something else that's broken? What am I fighting for? Is it nothing? Is it impossible?

It's not nothing. It can't be. I'm fighting for people, for happiness, for everything to be ok. That's not nothing.

But I'm losing. I'm never going to win. I know this. I can never make everyone happy. I can never make everything ok. But I'll fight for it anyway. Because maybe I can make a difference. Because maybe I can show people I care. Because maybe, just maybe, I can understand how they feel and make an impact in their life.

Maybe I will make someone happy.

Maybe everything will be ok.

Then, then I can sleep.

I'm not quite sure how I feel.

I'm feeling everything at once, every single emotion, pushing and tugging at me in a never ending battle to come out on top.

I can't breathe.

It feels like there's something in the top on my chest and throat, blocking off the air supply, wrapping it's cold fingers around my neck and squeezing until I quit.

But I can't quit.

When things are too hard to deal with, the numbers come. It's a distraction, self-preservation, a life saver.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5...2, 4, 6, 8, 10...1, 3, 5, 7, 9...5, 7, 11, 17, 23...

Day after day I grin and tell everyone that everything is going to be ok, tell myself that everything is going to be ok.

And maybe it won't be, but I can't quit.

Most of me doesn't feel this. Most of me doesn't care. It feels nothing and just laughs at the problems my emotions have to face.

Deep down I know this is a cover-up. Deep down I know that if I let it care, everything will be too much, it will care too much.

Maybe someday I'll let it care. Someday.

Until then, I despise myself.

2x2=4
2x3=6
2x4=8
2x5=10

Why is it that even though I have lost someone, any time I hear of anyone else who has too, I don't know what to do? I don't know how to feel, how to react, what to say, what to think. I want to protect them and make sure nothing else bad ever happens to them again. And then I think to myself "man, losing somebody that close to you must be a horrible thing to experience."

Am I really that disconnected?

Too late?

I just got my hard-drive working again. There are so many things on there that I didn't realize I had kept. I have tons of conversation transcripts that for some reason I copied into notepad and then saved. I have many old school assignments. All of my old music and photos. It's kind of crazy what is on there actually.

I came across something that I wrote about 2-2.5 years ago. It was originally written in a msn conversation with David, but then I used it in a paper that I wrote in 11th grade as well. What I thought was interesting was that even though I don't feel like that anymore, reading it sent a chill up my spine. And deep, deep down, I feel so very bad for that lonely, scared kid who wrote those words.


“You feel lost and alone. Nobody cares, there is nobody to run to even if you wanted to. Everybody could be an enemy, you don't know who is actually friend and who is just looking for information to hurt you, so you just don't trust anyone. In some ways you pretend to. You also pretend to be alright. Everything is fine on the outside, but on the inside, you feel like you’re burning up. If you could feel like you’re dying without actually experiencing it, that’s what it would feel like. Nobody knows what is actually wrong, and nobody could ever hope to understand it. You can't tell your parents because they won't get it, they will just worry about you and you can't have that. You don't want them poking in your life. Its your life, you want to live it your way. You can't tell your friends because they won't get you either, they might ditch you, or worse, make fun of you. You’re hurting, you’re alone, you feel lost, and you’re slightly scared, but you can't admit that. Admitting fear is defeat. On the outside you are a tough shell, but nobody knows you actually cry yourself to sleep almost every night. Though its hell, you'd rather sit in your dark hole than tell anybody what’s wrong. Its easier that way. You sit there and pray, that someday, somebody will come along and lift you out of that dark hole so you don't have to do it yourself. The only problem is, every time someone comes along, you push them aside and say not yet, not you. But deep inside you know that one day, it will be too late.”