Trapped in a Box

Preface:
You know those people. The ones that wear the white face paint and, black and white striped shirts. The ones who look mental since there seems to be a staircase in the middle of no where. Those people that pretend they can't speak for other's amusment. All of them, when you think about it, are fakes. Ever so lucky fakes.They pretend. Everyday they pretend.

I guess you could compare me to a mime. Today, I'm wearing a striped shirt, when anyone sees me they act like I'm the mayor of Freaksville. And I don't speak.

But there are differences. Like how my face doesn't exactly look like a marshmellow exploded on it. Or that I can't see those stairs in behind the bushes. But most importatly, how I can't pretend not anymore.

My name is Samantha Ann Hart, the quiet girl. But my old imaginary friends called me Sammy. The same friends that left me on the darkest day of my life, because since that day I can't imagine anymore. No matter how much I try I can't. I can't believe. I can only hope. Hope for a miracle, that one day there will be something good to believe in. And that someone will help me out of this box before I suffocate.
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This is the begining of a story I started a long time time ago. I have no idea what I was going to do in the story. Suggestions?And tips to make what I already wrote better? Thanks!