They think I don't know. They think I don't see. They think I don't care.
But I do. Oh God, I do.
I know they have very different lives from me. I know I can't possibly hope to understand them. Not for a second.
I see their pain, when they snap and snarl at me, or worse, when they never let me know how they are, when they keep it from me without asking whether I want to know, reply "Fine," to every question I throw at them, when they shrug and change topics quickly.
I care. I'm hyper, I'm shallow, I barely even know what my own emotions are, they all feel the same, but when one of my friends lets me know they're hurting, it hurts me too. I've sat and shaken for six hours straight, I've cried, I've gone hot and cold all over, and I've worried about them. All from a word, or maybe more, that lets me know how they feel. And if I find out, somehow, that they've been "down", as I like to put it, cheerfully, it's easier to say, and haven't told me, haven't let me hurt on their behalf, well, that's even worse.
I'm hyper-sensitive about my friends, I'm the first to admit it. About what they think of me, what they think of themselves. But what can I do? How do I know when they're serious? And if I know they are, how can I help? I can't, I just sit there and joke and hug them and try to do what I do best, cheer people up. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. But at least I tried.
My plea? To everyone who feels down, somewhere there is a happy, hyper girl with friendship and loyalty and hugs to give you. Use her. You'll both feel better for it.
I think this is Hilary. But it could be Ming-Ming, I suppose. Or maybe Mariah.
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