Dear Her,
I'm not a cynic. I'm just not a very positive person. I guess that's because I usually fuck everything up or something goes wrong and I can't do anything to stop it. Or maybe it's because my anxiety always gets the best of me.
I try to stay positive and bubbly and giggly, but it never really works. As soon as I'm alone, the façade melts away until all that is left is the true, raw me. But I never let anyone see that version of myself because, honestly, would anyone like what they saw?
I always feel like I'm being pressured to stay happy and positive but that can be really hard sometimes. If you see me at school or outside or with my family, I will most likely be wearing a smile; fake. But inside I'm really just dying to curl into a ball and sob so hard that my bones break. The anxiety and paranoia that's rushing through my veins 24/7 is a dull ache that will NEVER go away.
Sometimes my laugh or smile is real. Like when I'm talking to you and I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my veins and it's like electric shocks are swimming around us, trying to pull us closer.
Adrenaline; ecstasy; lust.
Sincerely, Brookie.
YOU ARE READING
Sincerely, Brookie.
Teen Fictionsincerely, brookie (who did not wake up with a smile on her face but tears in her eyes; this letter did make her smile the brightest smile).
