My Tune: I Still by Backstreet Boys
There’s no running away now. I am trapped in my own conspiracy of both bliss and misery.
I am “proud” to say that I officially am getting what I have been wishing for for the past weeks. I am “proud” to say that as of now, I am in a deep and penetrating state of anguish, displacement and an overall catastrophic emotional breakdown.
Only a few of the people around me understand or comprehend what I’m going through. Actually, no! I’m taking that back. I presume only one person knows what I’m going through. What’s ill is that I’m not even sure if this person even bothers to dig in more deeply inside my concealed agony.
You see, mine is a kind of agony which may bring about a severe social fiasco— one kind of agony which lasts until further notice— one agony that had never happened to me before.
What’s paradoxical is that I was longing to feel this pain for the longest time and now that I’m actually and undeniably undergoing this sick somewhat-Manchester’s-Syndrome-kind-of-thing, I am right now questioning myself for having had wished for such senseless conspiracy.
My conspiracy of happiness, that is!
Now that I can hardly breathe, hardly see and hardly eat, I am expecting that the coming days will be rather odd… abstruse… even insanely profound.
I can right now just convince myself that I am simply taking on another rocky patch which will be smooth sooner or later as I walk all over it.
Nevertheless, I am ready to enter the wild and the foreign.
I am… I am.