I am expected to see how colorful the world is.
Yet for me, the world I see is gray.
Everyone around me is oblivious, thinking everything is fine, not knowing that when one is alone, everything falls apart.
No one sees the tired and blank expression; everyone thinks one is all smiles and fine, but the depression is still there.
Then, if one tries to open up after all the screams that they are there for you, they tell you everyone has problems.
So, the mask goes back on, and the de facto response goes back to everything being fine.
Yet behind my mask lies a tortured soul desperate for a way out.
I have actively hated myself for decades, and my life is becoming more intolerable.
So my eventual death makes sense, as I am useless and a burden, and I know that when I die, everyone will be happier for it.