Who you see, is not the Real Me

I have no more strength to keep up this disguise.
This lie.
They see a smart student.
They see a loving daughter.
They see a caring friend.
They see a gifted girl.
They see a special wonder.
Illusion.
They don’t see me cry myself to sleep.
They don’t see me wake up screaming, in a cold sweat.
They don’t see me lay in bed, unmoving.
They don’t see me fake a smile, a laugh.
They don’t see the cuts.
They don’t see the blood.
They don’t see the pain.
All they see is sheer happiness.
Happiness is not being terrified.
Fear that never goes away.
An illusion.
When I look at them
I see overconfidence.
I see mundane worries.
I see lies purposely spread.
I see how secure they are with life.
I see how much they think nothing bad could ever happen to them.
I see how they think life’s a ledge, and they will never fall off.
Illusions.
Yet, in the same way they are wrong about me.
Is it possible I am wrong about them?
I wonder how many of them,
Like me,
Are living lives,
Of illusions.
Nobody talks about their problems.
It’s as if everyone is flawless.
Yet I wonder how many of them,
Are hiding under the disguise of happiness.