An honest answer
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Why can't I say what I truly feel? The honest answer? No. I don't want that. I am happy; I am happy as I am.

I deny myself, I make up what I'm supposed to feel. I don't feel that any more.

It's gone. Perhaps sleeping; I suppose I will see. But I can find no trace of the anticipation I should feel, only dread and sadness, and the prospect of losing myself.

Why am I so afraid to acknowledge what I want, until it poisons me from the inside and spills out?

"I don't know what to do," I think, but I know what I will do. The same as always.

Lie.