There is a hollow inside of me, a sort of emptiness that defies explanation. I must have been happy at one time, I’ve seen pictures where I’m smiling and laughing, but even those could’ve been a lie. I still smile, laugh even. Every once in a while I’ll catch someone watching me, someone who recognizes the contrivance of it all, and I’ll just shrug, really not caring that I was caught. Because that’s the truth of it; I don’t care. There is a vacancy where my heart used to be. I don’t know where it went; there was no one big thing that broke it, only a series of small fractures that eventually left me what I am today; an emotionless void. So if you see me, in picture or in person, and I’m smiling or laughing, just pretend like you believe me. It’ll make it easier on both of us.
*Before I get worried comments about my mental health, I just want to add that this is a work of fiction. I am a psychiatric nurse and I was just describing what I see in some people’s eyes both at work and out.