I know, what it feels, to be the last one who knew. To be the one getting the news from everyone BUT that person who should be telling you the truth.

I guess I'm never gonna be good enough for the truth.

I was badly broken, but I couldn't let anyone see it, even now.

I literally forced myself to move on, even though a little of me was dying inside with each waking moment. The happy image portrayed outwardly didn't matched the dying hopes raging through my mind and heart.

I was at my lowest point, but nobody knew because I carried on with the happy-go-lucky masquerade. Nobody knew, so no one rescued me from my own oblivion.

Fat hope, fat wish, fat me.

My mum thinks I'm pregnant, because I'm fat. Sure thing Mum, sure thing, can't wait till nine months is over so that you'll know I'm just bloody fat.

To love and suffer compromises; or not to love and suffer promises?

It's almost as if you enjoy watching me go through pain.

It's easy to tell me to just be happy, when you're not the one dying inside looking for reasons to be happy.

/itrytobeme/

I'm not being bloody sensitive. You just don't know the truth about me, and how much I'm hurting inside for reasons you wouldn't understand, not in a millions years.