i'm actually not, though.

I figure if this isn't real and if I talked myself into this place, I should be able to talk myself out. (Then again there's the chance that this is just who I am. That I'm just slow and lazy and cynical and sad. What if I'm just generally terrible and that's all there is to it?)

"You don't want to die today. You're happy. You can do this. You can make it. You're happy. Smile. Dress up. Talk more. Because you're happy. You don't want to go to sleep yet. Do your homework. You're happy. Chat. Eye contact. You're happy. You're happy."

Maybe the magic of eighteen birthdays, a couple dozen fountain coins, and a handful of stardust will finally count for something; maybe this will be the one wish that will come true. So I repeat it again and again and again and again.

But tomorrow I go to the doctor and wishes won't count for anything anyway. 

I'm afraid of medicine. If I take the medicine and nothing changes, it will just prove how awful I am at life and how shitty I am for convincing myself I was sick when there are people in the world who have real problems.

Then again, I'm also afraid that if I take it, everything will change. She says I shouldn't let the blue define me, and I'm not saying it should. I'm just saying it's there and it's real to me. What will I be without it? And then again, what if the medicine takes away too much of my blue? What if I can't create things anymore?

I'm just scared and lonely and sad and tired and--

"I'm happy."