'There's only one way to describe the way I feel, but a million different ways to phrase it.

One way is that I'm just not young like I used to be and simple activities like walking to the park with Cake are exhausting enough to make me take a two hour nap afterward wobbling home fallowing the blue gray pavement. Another would be my body, not being used to getting much sleep, is isn't ready when mourning comes and needs that extra five minutes school seems to deprive from me. Perhaps me not eating right might be the culprit, but high school pressures could just as likely be the bad guys here.

Case and point; I don't know why, and obviously there doesn't need to be a reason that’s tangible to be tired all the time.

I sniffle pathetically during class, drag my ache body from one to the next, fight the tears that wish to spill forth when a teacher decides to enact some other silly punishment for another mistake I've made just because they can; and the whole while no one notices, so I don't complain. Mom seems either so wrapped up her new career that she doesn't notice, or she has resolved to thinking that I've somehow gotten better, so I don't say a word. Modern medicine found nothing wrong without whipping out the big guns towards some new disease that might require cemo therapy to kill it off and myself in the process, so I don't raise a hand to say there is something wrong. There’s a voice in my head that says that its all in my head, that it might be a mental illness that will one day have me fall into a breakdown like my dear mother, but I don't want to believe that’s the reason for this or want its troubles, so I don't voice my troubles.

The other day I woke up to the world and felt like it was the first time I'd ever seen my life. Everything was alien with a tingle of familiarity; the whole day it felt strange to take in everything I did and all the people I talked to while my insides watched, my body having a mind of its own to go from one place or do one thing on autopilot.

I miss the days when I was proud that instead of seeing the world in black and white like most people did I saw everything in bright vibrant colors. Now the colors have faded, seemingly devoid of the vivid liveliness they once held, and things are more complex than before with a black and white view of the world that holds its shades of gray like a trump card to throw a wrench in your plans (or at your head). Those were the days- the days when the bad guys were people I could pretend didn't exist, when there was no world outside the four walled structures of my home and school that affected my life, a time when I could really smile for no reason and not have to pretend or come up with an answer to satisfy people.

I miss the simplicity of those days, when a bird was just a bird and a butterfly was a pretty thing I could chase with no hope of catching.

And it makes me wonder if its all really worth it, this life we lead and all of its trials, when it doesn't matter what you do with it because it all ends the same; a man with a mansion and million of stocks dies just the same as a poor man on the side of the road digging through trash cans dies, with one final breath before death claims you.

Then I think that I must be thinking too much again, take an Advil, and turn up my music.'