I hate when people comment on how I’ve changed for the better. On how I’m so perfect now. On how they love me so much more now. I’m more approachable. Whatever that means.

Can you just read this?

Therapist said I only ever talk about my feelings in my work. And then she walked away. She can’t help me if I don’t help myself. What type of advice is that? Read this. Hear me out… for once.

People say I’ve changed, and for the better. Does that mean I wasn’t good before? Did you not love me just as much before? Was I not enough then and suddenly enough now? Was I too much work then, and not now? Do you worry less? Old friends came running back now that I’m “better”. Laughing, hugging me. They’re taking pictures, a knife in my gut when they walk away.

“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve changed!”

How dare you?

I’m sitting here. And God, I’m mad. Hands are shaking, staring at the holes I’ve put in the walls before. Why can’t anyone hear me? Why can’t anyone see me? It’s like I’m standing in the middle of a crowd, everyone cheers and they expect me to be just as happy.

And so I do.

…I painted a new mask.

You brought up my 500 followers. And I just sat there. My greatest achievement was held up. “I deserve it,” you said. I won’t lie, I felt my eyes get all soppy and wet. What made me so proud, now I’m sitting alone in a room full of people. I’m wounded, but still trying to rule.

And my cheeks hurt from smiling. I thought he’d listen, so I told him my story, and he told me to cheer up a little. So I slid my mask on again and laughed. “I am happy,” I said. “Don’t you know I was just playing?”

“I need help,” I said. And by that, I meant mental help. I know you can’t do it, because I can’t talk about it. I get it, so many people fake it for attention. I get that you’re iffy about me. I get that I’m just here. I’m just a writing on a screen.

Close your eyes.

Just do it. And touch your heart.

I’m serious, I want to show you something.

Do it. For me.

Do you feel that? It’s the ability to be human. That knot in your throat is all you. Wet eyes and sad lies… I’m so tired of pretending. Aren’t we all?

I’ll tell you a secret:

Did you know even the Queen needs help? I don’t guess you thought to ask, because I’m so distant… but that’s okay. Because guess what?

I painted a new mask.

She looks a lot like me, and smiles a lot. She makes jokes so it doesn’t hurt so bad. Her heart is heavy, a lump always in her throat. But she has a healthy glow, a great complexion. That’s all that matters, right?

That’s all people see, at least.