I’m done. I’m tired of all the chasing. I’m over feeling out of control.

It is easy to become too comfortable living in self denial, faking a smile and saying everything’s fine. Behind closed doors, the mask sheds, the tears run, the scars appear. It is difficult to explain why bottling emotions is better off than letting them flourish; perhaps the lie is always better than the truth, as ignorance is always better than knowing too much.

I thought if I went with my heart, at least I would find the truth. How wise, realising moments later that the truth was cold, ruthless and unwanted. I wonder why I am so idiotic, so unprotective of my fragilility. Overtime, hurting has become a comfort, a necessity, to remind myself that the world is still real. Pessimism became my safety net - knowing that feeling of ecstasy is rare to find.

Remembering back to the days of absolute numbness, I detested the reduction of emotions - I hated feeling nothing. This time around, as I stare into your eyes, I feel an overwhelming emptiness, and to be frank, it’s quite comforting. It terrified me, momentarily, how happy and secure you made me feel, and how dependent I was becoming. Thank god for that, as I saved myself this time from getting the rug pulled from underneath. I am glad that I shut the door, before those tearing words came.

It has been a hell of a rollercoaster ride. On this frosty morning, awakened, I look around. This solid ground that I am stepping on, the air that I am breathing, it feels as if all impurities of the world has been wiped away. It has never been this black and white, adrenaline has never been this close within reach.

I thought I had found my fairytale ending, though I should have known that it was not wise to sway to the brightside - it was all too good to be true.