I thought I had walled myself up so much that nothing could ever hurt me anymore, and it scared me to know so. But I was wrong. It was the shattering truth that broke me. There is too much hurt and shame that hides inside of me, things I don’t speak of anymore. I know that I should but it feels so over-whelming sometimes that I eventually don’t speak of it. This is my problem. I am scared to feel weak when I share about my past, to those I’ve known forever. The sad thing is, I’m a pessimist. And I’ve never wanted to be such a person. I became so because I never knew how to grow from all the bullying and harassment that people tormented me by. I was little, I was naive and I tried to think differently. I tried to shut it down but I couldn’t. I had no strength. I had no-one to confide my sorrows in. When I tried to speak of it, tears would be pouring down my cheeks before I could say anything. Mostly, people would laugh. Or people wouldn’t care. These types of people would be a reminder to me: no-one truly cared about me. I grew up, not with a healthy mindset. I’m fifteen years old now, most of the hurt that I’ve experienced in my life is now concealed as symbols in my posts. It’s hard for me to write about this because I feel that most people would find it unnecessary, I should be writing about how to grow from it…how to be happy. But I simply don’t know how to be happy. Life isn’t meant to be a happy journey, no-one can truly anticipate what will happen to them, if they ever encounter a situation where they are sad, how can they deal with it? But I was young, and I accepted all those words because I thought that it was the truth. I denied happiness because it felt good to being hurt. It felt good to cry. Now, I’m trying to see that that can’t be the way for everyone to live. But I’m realising I’m more broken than ever, and those walls around me only protect a shattered person. I’m broken. And that is the truth behind the riddle.