Tired of Being

I'm in a state of being tired of being. I say I'm not depressed, I know I'm not. But if I know so well that I'm not, and I'm so sure, why am I so sad. Even when I'm not sad, I'm really sad. I feel like crying most of the time. I feel lonely, in my body, lonely in my room, lonely in my house, lonely in my city, lonely in my school, lonely with my friends and really lonely as I push my way through a crowd of strangers that could possibly be just as lonely. My blank face is a mask, a mask I wear all too well. I've had it on so long, and I can't even begin to think of what I'd look like without it. It saved me. It really did. Without it I'd look like a lonely, pathetic fool. Without it I would have to answer so many questions I rather skip. Without it I feel the pain I was hiding would eat at my soul, the reminisce would tear me down. With that mask on, I even fooled myself. I could almost pretend that everything was okay. I could live, kind of. But what I didn't realize is that it really didn't help. The pain's still there, and I still have to deal with it. I still have to answer the questions, to myself, because it's hard to keep the truth from yourself. And believe it or not, I am a lonely, pathetic fool, and you shouldn't have to hide who you really are.