A/N: I wouldn't be able to write/share this if I didn't experience/feel similar feelings. So I guess you could say I based this off my own thoughts. Sorry if this doesn't make sense('cuse the pun). I tend to drift when I write about feelings. Plus, it's basically spur of the moment. While writing this I forgot what the five sense were…. I had to look them up.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. Masashi Kishimoto does.
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"I start to think there really is no cure for depression,
that happiness is an ongoing battle,
and I wonder if it isn't one I'll have to fight for as long as I live.
I wonder if it's worth it."
- Elizabeth Wurtzel
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Sometimes I can still feel it.
The loneliness. The nothingness.
I can still feel the void of emptiness; when I close my eyes, tilt my head back, and put my arms in the air. I feel nothing. As it was and as I remember and as it (sometimes) should be.
Just empty.
Devoid of feeling and reaction.
No one to push you back when you reach out. Nothing to make you feel pain.
Alone.
I feel it after I'm happy for a long time, like I only have so much energy. And, when its gone, when I'm too tired to smile and forget it all, it creeps back silently and subtlety.
I have to summon short…bursts of happiness just to face another and, with my eyes closed, reassure them with fake smiles that I am fine. I think of them as bursts because they are sudden and short-lived. Also, it's really not lying because I am alive, for now, and that's enough to be sure of.
But when am I "fine"? Just because I am not talking to you or not smiling at the moment, regardless of how true it may be, does not mean something is wrong with me… I think I get it.
Is it because those who don't smile aren't "okay"?
Is it because I take comfort in solitude and; therefore, I have something wrong with me?
Or is it because only constant happiness when around others is acceptable?
I don't know. I can't remember.
But I can feel. I can see your needless worry. I can hear your whispered comments. I can taste the bitter words you feed to me. I can feel the touch your warmer hand when you offer a, supposedly, comforting gesture. I can smell the stench of failure rolling of me.
I am aware of the disappointment you feel of me.
I know you and how you feel about me.
I don't know me. I don't know why I am answering the big questions, while the small ones keep me forever puzzled.
The questions only I can answer.