When people look at me they always see a sheltered girl who lives a decent and a comfortable life. The more I think about it, the more I begin to understand why they view me as such. I can always put up a very convincing act of being steady and relaxed, that I am a big fan of freedom.
I love life. I have the zest for it. And I always dream of dreams even bigger than myself. I do not find anything wrong with, honestly. I do not live a perfect life, so far from it. I have to work twice as hard as those who have everything already laid out for them. Though it may not seem like it, I bear with me my own share of frustrations and disappointments.
And I bleed everyday just to get through them. I cry myself to sleep every night hoping that my tears would wash away the pains of the day. Unfortunately, they don’t. This leads me to assume that tears only nourish grief until it becomes so intolerable that ending everything seems to be the best option.
Do not judge me for what you think I am, for what you think I have, for what you think I lack. Come to think of it, you do not know me that well.
I love my life, imperfections and all, but please do not take my feelings against me.
Spare me a little dignity because I deserve it.