I can’t get over the fact that I’m designed to thrive on misery. I have to sleep with one eye open when I’m happy because of the fear of it being robbed from me. I never worry when I’m sad. I’m fearless when I’m angry, and I’m cynical when I’m in love. It’s unfair that I was raised to feel safer with pessimism. Maybe I haven’t met the person that would color my world I’ve drawn. At least one that could stay. I want to just be able to smile an honest smile, and laugh an honest laugh.
I’m well aware of my own antics, but I fail to find a reason to feel otherwise. maybe I was cursed or maybe I was blessed with golden intuition. I acknowledge all the beauty in life, but the scalpel in my hand wants to rule out all possibilities of error. Because the scalpel was used on me first, my sense of equilibrium forces me to operate until I find that part that was taken from me. Someone needs to stop me.