They keep telling me to get over it, as if this is something I voluntarily want to feel. They don’t understand. They don’t understand how it feels like when your chest is about to explode and you are just one crack away from breaking into a million pieces. They are happy—to say the least. They keep telling me to stop posting ‘sad posts’ on here, on my own blog, because they think it’s useless. And that made me sad even more. I don’t have any other place than my blog to talk about my sadness. I would talk to them and tell them, if only they would stop making fun of me. They keep laughing and playfully calling me emo for what I post and I really don’t have any other choice other than to laugh with them, even though I want to cry every time they do it. I know they mean no harm, I just wish they get it. I wish they understood that what I’m dealing with is real and no laughing material. That what I’m dealing with started with a deeper roots that doesn’t go away with just a simple “omg stop being sad” or “get over it”. I wish they did. But they don’t, of course. They don’t understand. No one does.

2 months ago