I smile all the time like I'm so tough, but in the end of the day, I remove the paper bag from which I’ve been hiding in and the truth is revealed. My mask is gone, my hideous face shown in the mirror. Who is that staring back at me? Surely this isn’t who I really am…Maybe it’s just a perceived image from my imagination, but surely not me. But in the end I know who it is. I'm having a difficult time understanding the difference between reality and my imagination. What if this is who I am? Why do I not see what others claim to see? Maybe it’s that seeing myself as others see me is just a privilege I have to earn, but I don’t know what I need to do in order to earn it. I need to be true to myself and stand up with my own two feet and not worry about having crutches to rely on. I need to be my own person; it’s just easier said than done. I want to be unique and be the only me that will ever be, but it’s hard when I don’t know who that person is. I know that pleading anyone to tell me who I am, even pleading to myself won’t get me the answer that I seek, but I can’t help but to keep trying. Life is a journey. I conjured up the thought of being gone, would I be able to pull it off? I'm bleeding out inside, I need an answer now. It’s not fair…but then again life isn’t fair. This is internal suicide. I need to be saved, but I need to be the one that does it.