Conclusion?

In the end of everything I read, I feel ashamed with myself. Even now. It's selfish of me to say the things I say.
Am I self centered? (Let me close my door so I don't wake my family.) No, I'd like to believe that I am not. I dwell in the past too often, yes. I weep about my despairs, obviously. I sometimes pulse out a black, true. Yet, I try and change myself constantly. I care for other people. I can scream my throat raw at someone, but all the while a second voice in my head would be begging me to stop! In every moment of silence, no matter how miniscule, I will analyze every word of what I've spoken and I will scold myself because I know what I said was wrong! I know I can be the better person! I know I can turn the other cheek! But then the silence will end and I'll continue to scream. I will not stop. In the inside, something is shoving words out of my mouth, refusing to let me back down, slapping me in the face every time I attempt to be calm, to be gentle. And as I let myself be pushed from the inside, I'll cry. People look at me and they see a girl who starts off shy and cold, but curiously, she smiles and laughs every now and then. They see a girl who will sometimes have an angry look on her face as she stares off, but sometimes she'll look sad, so deeply sorrowful. Even now I feel how my face is. I feel the tug of tension between my eyebrows, I know they are knit and I know how my eyes water and I am ashamed. I rather wear a permanent mask than allow others to see me so. I wear masks. I do. I haven't had a genuine laugh..I can't remember the last time..But I laugh every day. It's shameful. How I live. Even when I look in the mirror, and I'm absolutely alone, I'll still put on the mask. As much as I think about my life, I hate the truth of it. I'm ashamed that I wear the mask and am dishonest by my smiles, but I am also ashamed of life without the mask. Why do I wear them? Because they're good for me. I've had the pleasure and blessing of watching people I care for grow up and live lives full of happiness and love. They are my friends, I suppose, and my mask is what brought them to me. Pleasure is good for me. I believe that I deserve some type of happiness in life and my masks granted me it. To see a loved one swim around in a leisure life overflowing with joy is what brings me joy. But as they say, the poison is often the cure, and vis versa. I am also filled with misery and longing for a better life. Is there an after life? I'm not sure. Will I be born again, healthy, beautiful, and with a perfect family and perfect friends and grow old to have cute babies who in turn will grow up and have beautiful babies that I can take care of? That I can be the grandmother of? I like thinking of that. Will it happen? I hope so. Someone told me that there are cases of victims dying of cancer, refusing to believe they're sick, drilling into their brain "I'm perfect." and miraculously being cured of the thing that was killing them. Maybe it works with defect livers, too. Another reason. For me to be ashamed. Is the fact I stare my friends in the eye and I'll giggle with them, I'll grin goofy grins and act like everything is normal when in fact, I'm a screwed up girl with a screwed up life. I'm ashamed of myself. When they find out, if they find out, will they hate me? For lying to them all these years? If I die suddenly, will they curse my soul for keeping it a secret, for bringing death into their lives?