What I tell myself:
We’re all made of stardust. The universe is infinite. The Earth is just another rock floating around in space. Everything is just a combination of a couple different kinds of atoms slapped together in different ways. It’s not that big of a deal if someone can read more difficult books or has a newer iPhone. Everything and everyone is so insignificant. We all die. It’ll come eventually. Might as well enjoy living while you can. The universe doesn’t care about that time you tripped in the hallway in front of your crush and neither should you. Money and words were both created by humans. They only mean something because we make them mean something. That’s the beauty of it. You can make anything mean anything you want it to. Make dicks jokes with your friends on a couch at 2 in the morning. Eat pizza as you sing a Katy Perry song at the top of your lungs. Watch the sunset from the top of a mountain. What’s stopping you?
What I actually think:
Fuck this. What’s the point anyway? Everyone hates me. I will never amount to anything. I’m talentless. I’m so miserable. I’ll never be happy. Everything worth doing has already been done and anything worth saying has already been said. I’m too ugly to look at. Maybe I just shouldn’t leave the house. No one will ever care about me. I have no friends. I just want to die.