Maturity comes at a cost

*** all "unspoken" or unquoted text is the narrators monologue**

More often then not, there are people who try to help me, or at least they think they are; I have asked many people in my life to stop trying to help me, because when they fail, I face the reprecutions. When they give up at last, I feel the disappointment of hope having had touched my cold life with her loving warmth. In a nutshell opening up seems to go like this

"Truly you remember what happiness is, right?"

 "You would think, wouldn't you, that since I am still so young, surely I would remember how to pick myself up again. I think I've had to so often, happiness isn't something I often think about anymore.."

"What's wrong?"

"I don't know."

...and so on and so forth they continue to ask questions I, myself have asked, trying to patch up the broken soul I call mine. There is nothing negative to think about myself which I haven't thought before. I am often asked what I think is wrong with me... and each of the numerous times in a single conversation I am asked this, I become so unfathomably frustrated, the only phrase I seem to explain myself with is something along the lines of: If I knew I would've fixed it myself. 

For a fifteen year old being as "mature" as I supposedly am, mature being apparently the used and understanding of "big" words as well as the ability to put one's feelings above my own for even a minuscule amount of time, trauma apparently creates selfless people; Which though I agree with often times even identifying with, I know likely the most selfless people are this way due to them seeing themselves as less important or simply lesser than others. Heroes such as this are widely applauded when recognized, though being in that position I can genuinely state, the feelings surrounding selflessness often times are less than desirable.