My mental health has been declining recently.

Months of pain, building up. Each smile drops in the bucket of a wisdom I build for myself. Each day which has gone by, I find myself telling me “it’s fine,” like a coping mechanism gaslighting me into believing I’m happy.

Here’s a well kept secret of mine, which should not be a secret no longer: I cannot cry.

I like to think I’m a pretty smart person: always maxing out IQ tests, best in the class, know-it-all-philosopher. I tend to think highly of myself almost too often, but not like it’s not normal.

It’s a little known fact that smart people get depressed easier, most people can’t make sense of it, logically of course. Smart people live by logic, depression thrives against it. They think they can fix their problems by logic.

And we suffer when we cannot.

I like to think I’m a pretty emotional person: most people I know call me erratic and energetic, and “a lot” at times— there’s just a certain vibe to me. I like honesty, kinda had that burned into me even though I still fall back into decade old habits like a bungee jumper.

Yet I can’t show my show to the world. Inner workings aren’t working and I find myself lurching to the opportunity to text to talk and to use characters to build one of my own. Yet when I’m happy, it hurts to make myself smile.

So when I’m in silence, alone with company—

So when I’m in safety, alive if barely—

When I express my burdens- trials and tribulations, why is it I do so only with a yawn and a smile, a guarantee of a full night’s 2 hour rest.

At a point, “it’s alright” is never alright:

Denial of the problem at hand, so let me ask you this question of wether everything goes as planned to the sewer rats and city cats who fight for dominion over land. Do you think you are a feline hunting down your horrors and making a beeline for self-fulfilment of perhaps a mouse poser while they tell you you’re a loser, you’re a beggar not a chooser, and must run from the dark in the light.

Do you question ever wether you help for them or for you- for the clarity of mind that makes you feel good- feel like a hero here though you won’t save any days for justice, just great-ness, and so what do we do when our anchor- made of foam and our lifeline’s chain of gold is warping under thumb? Do we give up when your help is not enough, or do we fight for a better day to come?

We will know when we realise “it’s alright” isn’t enough.