My name's Cat, and I have psychological problems.
I see a therapist every week. That doesn't mean I'm crazy. I'm just different than everybody else. Nobody knows. I hide it well. I'm an actor. I learned my character well. She was bubbly, much like I was, but now that bubbly part of me is gone. I can't get her back. I can't get back to who I once was. I don't know how to find myself again. I don't exactly know what happened. But I keep acting. And medication can only do so much.
I don't know where I went wrong. I can't tell. I never used to think like this. I used to be bubbly, full of life. Where did all that life go? It's hard to tell how these thoughts got here in the first place, really. But they won't stop. They're intrusive. They killed who I once was. They killed Cat. Maybe it's because of my active imagination. Who knows.
I have dark thoughts. I don't blurt them out though. They scare me. Sometimes I wonder if Jade thinks these things. I know they're not normal, but was I ever really normal to begin with? No. But I'm not like Jade. I'm not a bad person. I'm not mean. I'm not evil. My thoughts are evil. They make me want to die. But that wouldn't be fair on my friends. I couldn't burden them like that.
I'm supposed to be sweet, but these thoughts appear and I don't know how to stop them. I'm not in control. Maybe I never was. But I didn't expect any of this. I didn't expect to feel this way. I'm so lost in my own mind. No therapist can help me when I don't even know what I'm trying to get help from. It's not like I can get away from my own mind. Well, I could kill myself, but that's not an option. I'm not suicidal. I couldn't do that to the people who love me. I know people love me, but I wish I could be honest with them, especially when they're all so honest with me.
I don't want to be this way, but I can't help it. If they knew, would they look at me like I was a freak? That's why I act. I can laugh, but it's acting. All my emotions have vanished. It's hard to tell which ones of them are real anymore. I hide behind a mask, the mask of happiness. I keep secrets. I lie. A lot. I lie to my friends, but it's better that they don't know. They like happy Cat. I try to be in a good mood all the time for them. But it's starting to get harder for me to act, and I wonder how long until I crash, until I let out the real me. I know it won't be pretty.
I never wanted to grow up. I like acting like a child. It's an escape. I don't like reality. It's too cruel. And when you get older, you start to see the reality of things more clearly. It masks how I truly feel. I was happy when I was a kid. It helps me cope with these scary thoughts that make me feel so, so bad. My thoughts get too much sometimes. I'm not supposed to have them. But I do.
I can't explain something I don't even understand myself. But death makes me curious. I just hate pretending. Nobody knows me. They don't see what's underneath. They only see what I show them, and what I show them is hardly the truth. If they looked inside my brain, would they be scared? Would they ever think I would think such dark thoughts? I'm not open to anybody about them, so they'll never know. They'll never know that I'm not as sweet as I seem.