I once worked for a circus and it was fun. When I was really little, I always wanted to make others happy by being a clown and making their day shine. But when the lights are all on you, the darkness dies out.
When you see me on the stage, dancing, being funny, think of the man I really am. Am I really funny? Am I really liking what I am? Am I in the right state of mind? Does my life have the shining light? Is my life perfect?
The answer is no. When the curtains drop and everyone leaves, that's when the lights go out.
I drive home, go to a bridge and stare into the sky. Thinking about my future. Thinking about why I give others the colour they need when I have only, well, nothing. No happiness, no colour, no light. Just darkness.
Then I go home, sit on my couch with the scars, the stab wounds i've gotten from all the things that made the lights go out. If I help a friend, they feel happy, then they go do their own thing. But I go home, tempted to grab the gun to end it all. They sometimes see me crying on the ground, gasping for help.
Imagine this. I make something, publish it and little kids say, "This story is amazing!". That's like a friend with a message but the message failed to send. That's when I know children are only what I entertain.
I want to speak out to adults. I want to know if they too felt the same way I feel. Maybe your not supposed to know all of this. Would it kill you just knowing im finding no help at all?
Every therapist I find isn't a good one. I'm still broken. Even when the lights go out. I'm holding onto life. I will let you know if i'm alive. By the time this little story ends, i'm gone. Then you can't cure my mind.
