Laughing

I find it funny how much I laugh.

How much I smile so wide, it splits my face apart.

It's funny how a laugh fill the void of panic and anxiety, while the world crumbles around you. Becuase if it's funny it can't hurt you. If you laught at the thorns, they turn into roses.

At least, that's what I tell myself.

So I'm sorry Mom. When you woke up at 3am to hear me laughing hysterically over my geometry homework. If I wasn't laughing, I'd be crying. Becuase proofs are bullshit to be feeding to a hormonally charged teenager, who is drowning, just trying to get by.

I laughed a lot in English class. Because reading Death of a Salesman, when the majority of the students in the class are depressed is the stupidest thing I've ever seen. So Mrs. Pool, are you dumb enough, not to see the scars on the wrists and the red-rimmed eyes? Are you trying to drown us, to shove us into a mold not everyone fits in.

Because there are a hundred other book with redeeming qualities. Shakesphere may be a monkey hitting keys on a typewriter, but at least his plays don't have characters who people sympathize with becuase they want to kill themselves.

I could write all day, pounding keys in my frustration at the world. But will that help?

No.

The only way it'll get better is if I quit lying that things are fine, and I'm fine. It'll only get better if I quit participating. Improve myself, and hope others follow suit.

Because the only person in this world I can control is me.

The only other option is the laugh.

And lie.