It’s easy to blend in with a faux smile painted on your face when you live in a town full of plastic people. Sometimes I look in the mirror and almost fool myself into believing that the mask I wear is what I truly look like. What people don’t see is the melancholic cloud that hangs heavily over me, weighing me down more with each passing day, clinging to my mind like a malevolent angel. It’s times like these when inordinate blankets of dysthymia shroud me in their unbearably woolly covering. Making my entire body feel scratchy, making me so uncomfortable in my own skin that I’d rather scrape it off than live in it.