Broken.

I have never made it a point to update my blog regularly, because at its most I only post when I feel far too lazy to write it down in my journal, or in this case, if I hurt my hand and decided typing is easier than writing.

The past few months have been a pain to me. My life was so perfect one moment and the next thing I know, everything came crashing down on me. Everyone I love has left me, every ache in my body has become sores that never go away, every day I am numb from the constant pain that haunts me. People are concerned, or at least they act concerned. Maybe they're just curious to see if this would kill me. Maybe they're just curious to know what's happening in my life.

I am never one to share. I keep everything to myself. For the most part, whatever I do share is just minimal to what I actually feel. The suffrage, the agony, the pain of it all, are kept silent, deep down inside my heart. Life has never been easy. We are not all born with a silver spoon in our mouths. Not all of us are privileged to have everything and anything we want. Not all of us are privileged enough to be happy.

But what determines who should and should not be happy? There are people who are so cruel to others, yet they have everything they want. They are rewarded with the fruits of life, they are given no punishment for the suffering they have caused. And there are also people who are amazing, who learn to put other people first, who loves everyone before themselves, who sacrificed so much for everyone else's happiness, that in the end they sacrifice their own. Why are they punished for being loving and unselfish?

Why are there undeserving people who are happy? And deserving people who are unhappy? Why is there no balance in this world we live in? Why isn't there a middle point, where it's decided there should be fairness and just in this world?

And yet, we learn how to adapt to these situations. Those who deserve happiness, pretend to be happy. And those who deserve unhappiness, pretend to deserve happiness. Everyone is never fully honest with themselves or anyone else. You can tell yourself one thing, convince everyone else of something about you that you hope is never true, but at the end of the day, when you're lying in bed at night, you'll remember. You'll remember it was all a lie to begin with.

You can lie to everyone. But you can never lie to yourself. No matter how much you try to convince yourself of something, there is always that gut feeling. There will always be that shadow of a doubt that you'll feel in the pit of your stomach, like something's wrong.

You can convince yourself that you never truly love a person, or you never truly were someone's friend, or that you never really cared about anyone except yourself. You can tell yourself that you are a person who's happy, that there's nothing in your life that is wrong, or that deep down you don't feel unhappy that your life is upside down. You can repeat all the lies you tell yourself before you go to sleep at night, but you will never ever believe it.

That's all our problems. We play pretend. We smile when it hurts inside. We fake a laugh when all we want to do is cry. But how long can we keep this on? How long can we play this game?

How long can you survive lying to yourself, before you realise that the more you try to hide something, the more everyone is able to see through your charade?