The interlude was everlasting

One night I tried to sink into concrete. I wanted to so badly. My thin body lay on top of it, stretched out neatly like a pin. My dress blended into its dusty off-white hue. My naked skin felt as hard as its surface. God, I prayed, just let me sink in. I want to be able to feel absolutely nothing, just like this concrete does below me. Make me smaller. Make me calloused. Make me infinite.
I lay there, watching the lights flicker in the windows of the homes lining my street. They looked like the stars in the sky, tiny whimpers of light. The world embodied me and I wanted it to lift me higher.
They call me crazy, these people. I know that they are wrong. They say they are the happy ones but I know they aren't, I can see it in their faces. They work so hard, until the sun sets in the evenings. Their eyes seem sad and their skin hangs low on their tired bones. They play a game of make believe, impressing eachother until they don't have the strength to anymore.
I asked my God among the silence, why do they do these things? I could hear some of them drinking together on their porches. The sound of their glasses hitting eachothers were as loud as my thoughts. Some of them turning their lights off before lying in their beds, some of them never waking up in the morning.
All of them, competing for false happiness rather than gaining truth. We wake up and all we do is hurt eachother. Condemn someone else like they are an insect waiting to be crushed under our indifference.
I keep silent God, because I don't want them to know. If they know I think these things they will think I am weak. They will capture me into their harnesses and their judgement will suffocate me. I want to breathe, so I pretend to be like them. But I don't want to be. I don't want their jobs and money or their aching hearts of solitude; but their presence is overwhelming.
This doctor gave me these pills to take. So that I can be happy like the rest of them. So that I can fit in and do things they want me to do. How can I trust her though, God. She was once a little girl and everybody told her she should become a doctor, so she can make a lot of money and help a lot of people. I hope at least, that she is happy.
I really do hope people are happy. I just hope that their happiness is real. I want to believe in real happiness so that I can make someone else happy. The kind that is like static, so that we stick to eachother so easily that being without it feels wrong.
I hope God, that we all stop treating eachother as an enemy we have to pretend to be better than.