Abject despair.

I’ve blogged about this before. I know I have.

I sound like a broken record. 

I know you can relate to it.
Everyone who’s ever been happy at one point, can.
Simply because there’s an opposite to what you experience that allows you to differentiate one from the other. 

Somehow I feel that this are not my emotions.
Perhaps I feel too deeply and in my cavalier disregard to limitations, allowed myself to immerse into the lives of others, so much so that they have become ingrained in mine.
Afterall, I have nothing to whine about. I don’t have flies on my face or a swollen belly. Everything is great in the sense that this is as good as it gets and I say this in an optimistic sense.
Not “the glass is half empty” sense.

Perhaps if someone pointed a proverbial gun to my forehead, I’d be able to articulate myself more eloquently.

More often than ever though, it’s all of the above and “perhaps” is a shovel called Coward and is used to dig loop holes in denying yourself the truth.

There is no real point in picking this self-probing scab. I ought to escape from this emotional masochistic milieu I’ve barricaded myself in.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps….


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