[ ignore this if u want idc it's moreso a vent of my emotions ]

To put it bluntly, emotions were shit for you.

One minute, you were feeling everything, all at once, and the next- numb. It was stupid, and you knew it was. Told yourself it was. Decided to be a fucking masochist and refuse to ask for help, out of fear you would sound stupid, or end up over-sharing.

Oh, and another thing! You'd built up this persona for yourself, purely on accident- that made you seem so carefree and humorous, no one would even expect anything else. Everyone around you grew accustomed to it, accustomed to nonchalance and jokes and bursts of energy. And so you began to wonder if you could think of yourself seriously, at this point- even you even should.

Sometimes you wished you had someone to talk to about it. Someone who would take you seriously, allow you to unplug yourself and ramble on about your worries and fears and hopes and dreams and everything in between.

And so you made someone up. Simple as that. Pretended that there was someone offering you advice, someone who gave a shit about your situation, someone who would tell you that you weren't dramatic or flawed or anything like that. You named him Mikey.

He was quiet, most of the time. A hell of a good listener, with awkward knees, brown hair, and glasses. He wasn't real, but you loved him all the same. Because he actually understood- comprehended the way you felt, offered silent comfort, et cetera. And it helped.