Smiling in Sadness

I was driving alone in my car, with the music up I looked at my arm and could visualize the scars. I've never gone so far as to actually draw blood, but I can see all the tally marks working against the good. They count up my mistakes and transgressions, continuing on without regression. Every lie I've told, every friend I've mislead are burned into my mind and will be till I'm old and dead. It's this that pushes me so close to the edge, suicide seems like the only way to escape the things in my own head. I've talked about these demons before, but I really don't think people know how close I am to knocking on that door. Maybe I've perfected that smile that tells everyone I'm just fine, maybe I've built up a big enough wall to finally hide behind. Or maybe people just don't care...I know saying that doesn't sound fair, but think about it from my position if you dare. Imagine watching friends talk about things without you, and there's nothing you can do. No one takes the time to know you, so you just hide it all away as if you some how knew. Somehow knew no one would dare get close to the kid who's constantly thinking in prose. Living a life built of different faces and facades, praying to God you remembered to put the right one on. Am I supposed to be witty with her or sarcastic with him? I'm never quite sure, never quite sure who I am supposed to be because I've never been able to fully define me. I wanted so desperately to fit in, I created multiple me's so which one's the real me? I don't know where to even begin. So the scars on my arm pile up fast because I constantly forget which role I'm cast. I think the main problem is that I've committed too much time to loving everyone else, which sounds nice but I've left none for myself. I'm a constant well of self-pity and hate and nothing that I ever do will be that great. I could win an Oscar or Pulitzer prize, but none of that ever give me the satisfaction of being fully satisfied. For me life isn't about money or accolades, with all this self-hate I could never even accept the praise. I simply want to live life a full and free, finally about to find out who is me. That'll never happen though, I harbor these thoughts of quiet suicide that never seem to go. I even display my feelings right out here in the open, somebody is surely there to help...at least that's what I'm hoping. Sometimes I do wonder how long with the pain linger if I was to up and go? Would anyone even let it show? In the grand scheme of things my life, and even yours, are so inconsequential we might as make our exit a show. Something to be remembered and felt, for better or worse, but these are all just thoughts of course. I'd never do anything, just have sobering thoughts once and awhile, but I'll be all right....just trust the smile.