Like a book

People seem to think that they can read me. Some can, but those are few. I can actually only think of two people who can read me, my expressions, and know what's up. So many other people seem to think that they'll be able to figure me out. I see them searching but I keep it closed. Sure, on here I let it all out, but in person, you would never know what's actually going on. I'm like a vault, yes, that's an overused metaphor. But really, my friends who don't read my blog, the wiser majority, wouldn't know what I'm going through this week. They're so oblivious to how badly I don't want to be here, how much I am tempted to just crash into bed and never leave, how easy it would be for me to fall into some sort of depression and let myself get sucked into it. I'm not saying they're not attentive, that they don't pay attention, because they do, and they care for me, I can tell. But I cover everything up so easily with a few loud outbursts of laughter and a groggy smile. I am usually tired and happy, and it is so easy to fake. Yes, I'm tired, but that smile probably isn't deeply true-- not this week. I can smile at something funny, I'll giggle at anything, but the nagging of this week's crap doesn't leave the forefront of my mind. If you didn't know otherwise, you never would. And so people don't think twice about how I am. Why would they? I'm laughing-- across Cobo in fact, and I'm still going to Bible Study and hanging out with people. As long as I think someone might be watching, I play it up, I act like my normal self: loud, happy, and stupid. When they're not looking, when I'm walking down the hall and they're not around, the show's off, and if you didn't know me, you might be able to tell something's up. Nothing seems out of the ordinary.. and I won't let it. Because if I do, people who would care will care. And I don't want to burden them with that. I don't want my crappy week and weak heart to weigh down on their days. So they don't know, and unless they read this, they won't know. And then I deal with it on my own when I really just wish I could accept the embrace and let them love me and care for me. And that's selfish.. people would say it's not selfish, and maybe it's not, but making someone else have to deal with what's going on inside my head and my heart just doesn't seem fair.