When the sun rose today, I felt better again. I wasn't consumed by thoughts. I used to be known as quiet for the first three-quarters of my life. Then I was known as weird. Now I am just known for getting mad.

People never wanted to be bothered by depressing things. They don't want other people's problems. Even when they're someone's friend. You just don't want someone to feel bad. If you're walking down the street and a friend sees you...and yells out, "How are you?" You feel obligated to say, "Great." Or you can always say, "Stressed. I have a lot of midterms this week."
But you're never allowed to say depressed. They'll ask why. Did someone die? Did you get a bad grade? But sometimes it's just...something else. They don't want to hear it. It's like a contagious illness. Some people don't know how to deal with it.

Then there are some who keep prodding. Oh, there must be a real reason. As if they were a scientist. And if you simply say, "Life sucks." Then they start ranting about how the sky is beautiful and the birds are chirping. Those things don't matter. You wouldn't care until they're gone. So don't even start to care now.

Maybe it's because you're stressed out.

Don't ever tell me what you think.

Why do I have to make other people happy? On a global level, making other people happy is supposed to make yourself happy. Why must humans be a social species. I want to escape. Why am I condemned to this body on this prison called Earth? Why do people have to care? Why don't they ever understand?

I want to be left alone.