I am a mask, trying to conceal all the pain I'm in. On the surface I may seem perfectly happy, with a job, home, and family. However, I can say with certainty that my life is far from perfect. I compartmentalize my actions based on the needs of the moment. I am removed from it all, coping. What I carry around inside me, not being okay, is almost too much to bear...but I do it.
The problem is me. It's always been me. Memories alone can break a person's spirit. I think if I committed suicide that I wouldn't go to heaven. The one place I believe I would be happy. If there is a purgatory, I am in it. It's called life. My broken life.