Ugh, its taking all my power now not to cry. I hate crying, not indicating that its anyone's favorite pasttime, but its particuarly unfavorable to me. For one: Its messy, sticky cheeks and runny nose. Two: I generally look a mess, eyes unpleasantly puffy and red, nose raw from rubbing my hand over it to wipe away the distress of the tears.....You're prolly thinking, "Well, duh, that's what crying is generally about." But typing that just distracts me enough from thinking about the pain that keeps washing over me.

And natually, I can't keep running from it. Because once I've stopped moving, once I've stopped talking, stopped thinking....it crashes into me...and then I'm hurting. And it hurts. So bad. My throat closes. My head swims. My chest aches. My eyes burn.

And I'm sure...surpressing it is what makes this pain that much harder to overcome. Sometimes, I wish I can just press my face into a pillow and scream, crying it all out of my system. But I'm more than certain that I would be heard. And questions would be asked and I can't tell anyone why....because not a damn person would understand...not a soul in this world could begin to realise.... besides one.

And its not like I can try to explain it, why the fucking hell would I bother? They'll just give me bullshit answers I don't want to hear. Attempts of comfort, thats just a waste of time. In most cases, I'd fake a smile, nod my head, telling them...."Yeah, I'm alright...." Fuck.

I miss it. I fucking miss it. I miss that undeniable bliss. That happiness. I was so fucking happy. And the most painfuly part of it all....It will most likely never return again. I'll never again get that happiness like before. I am more than certain it has disappeared. Everytime, I'm searching for it, I prod at it, in hopes of finding some shard of that bliss come out again. But it is futile. Blank answers everytime.
And that's a pain I can't fucking discribe.

You're prolly thinking I'm being a depressive emo, drama queen, whatever-the-fuck... Well, you can go fuck off because this is the most emotion I have ever put into a journal, put into any sort of typing, writing...anything. And I'm only doing this because I know he'll read it. For I don't have the guts to face that pain of him telling me to grow up...to get over it. That its impossible to ever have that bliss ever again. To stop acting like a child and move on. Quite apparently, I can't.

It hurts.