For three years I was blind and ignorant.
I was selfish. I was angry. I was pathetic. I was revolting.
I comforted myself with my own pity.
"oh woe is me, this wretched being of self disgust breathes yet again on this day"
My scars were created by me for me. They were my safety blanket. I knew of nothing else besides my own detestable qualities, that was easily hidden behind a few shallow self deprecating jokes. That's all I knew, that's all I know; how to make people laugh at me. But there is a certain power in being the one who causes joy, even shallow joy. I could give you a moment of complete bliss; stupid, meaningless bliss and I can take it away just as quickly with a single word, sometimes even less.
For two years I was a fraud and recovering.
I was carefree. I was careless. I was deaf. I was blissful.
I forgot to measure the amount of shallow joy to use, and it started to manipulate my own perception. For a time I thought all was well, I was happy now. The bitterness had passed