Nobody Knows the Real Me

Nobody knows the real me and what I feel inside. Nobody knows how many times I’ve sat in my room and cried about the things that I wish never happened. How many times I’ve lost hope because times were getting hard, and my depression was really fighting back and trying to take over. How many times I’ve been let down by people that swore they never would. How many times I’ve felt like I was going to snap because people were really pushing my buttons but don’t because I know that’s not who I am. How many times I’ve had to hold back tears because I didn’t want people I didn’t know to see me cry. How many times I’ve forced myself not to cry when I was sad. How many times I’ve thought that I wasn’t good enough. The bad thoughts that go through my mind and how horrible they are really get to me and nobody knows that. How strong I have to be just to make it through one day. Sometimes being one of the strong ones means that I love beyond all faults. I cry behind closed doors. I fight battles that I never tell anyone about. I keep myself together so no one I love knows that I’m broken. I’m so broken that no one can even fix me.

Nobody knows the pain I go through every day. I’m so alone. I smile and laugh just to make it look like I’m okay. I cry silently when I’m alone because deep down I’m hurting, but nobody knows that. The pain from my broken heart that shattered when my parents passed and turned into dust when my grandpa died. Nobody know the horrible thought that have crossed my mind. Nobody knows how badly I wish I was taken from this world because of bullying. Nobody knows that I’ve wanted to commit suicide because I was made to believe I wasn’t good enough but didn’t because of my three sweet nephews. Nobody knows that I fake being happy because if I tell them my problems then I’ll feel like a burden. Nobody knows that I fake a smile, so they won’t know how empty I feel inside.

Nobody knows the real me. How I barely eat because of my weight. How I wish I was prettier, so I won’t be made fun of anymore. How I always think I’m doing things wrong. How I get worried that if I mess up the slightest bit, I’ll get yelled at. How I’ve wished things were different. People only see who I pretend to be. They don’t know that that isn’t me. I always say, ‘I’m okay’, but for once I just want one person to look me in the eye and know that I’m really not. Nobody knows the demons I battle on a daily basis that tell me I’m no good. Telling me I’m not good enough. Telling me I’m worthless. Nobody knows.

Nobody knows the real me. Nobody knows that I’m dying on the inside. Nobody knows how I pretend to be so happy and fun when I’m really not. How, on the inside, I’m crying, and I wish that I could just stop. How I wish things were different. How I wish I could change things that are impossible to change. Nobody knows how hard I am on myself. How I drag myself through hell and back to make sure I live up to everyone’s expectations. How I treat myself when I fail to exceed any and all expectations. Nobody knows me. Nobody knows the real me and maybe I don’t know the real me.