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Do you ever get that nauseating feeling when you're looking forward to a certain thing happening but you also equally dread the emotions that will come crashing the moment it ends? Today is one of those days.

I am beyond reason. I don't have any solid arguments or points to raise, or basically, any logic. I am hollow and void, just wanting an inflated sense of satisfaction, a rush of adrenaline -- anything, just anything to permeate through me.

I set out into the golden morning and got exactly that. I was hollow and void, and for a moment, I was filled to the brim. It would have been what I wanted. I was overwhelmed. I was full. It sounds like a dream. But is it possible that somehow a person can be filled with nothing? That you have everything right at the palm of your hands and yet, at hindsight, it actually has no value? At all? Naught. Zero. Nada. Not a single fucking thing.

Today, I've woken up for the 482nd time, is this finally the best version of myself? Definitely not. This might be the worst side of me. If you think about it now, every time you wake up, you don't necessarily shed away your old self to become a better you, you just uncover a whole new you. You can't be certain if it's a 'you' you would like. And today was a whole new me. Do I like it? Not one inch.

I sank. Let me just lay it out there. I did. But it wasn't so bad. But it dragged on. And on. And I thought I can keep up. I was almost proud of myself because I never wanted more. But at the end of the day, even though everything was at the back burner, there's always this nagging feeling I can't get rid of. It was clear that I can never ever be that person. I can never be a monster. I don't want to turn into that person I hate. But I think I already am. I am filthy, corrupted and quite possible, soulless.

And what I dread the most after the boomboxes and fireworks are the quiet nights that follow. The nights so silent, you could hear your innermost thoughts out loud, you could hear the absolute truths like the clacking of 5-inch stilettos marching down an empty hallway. Your fears magnified, your faults naked for everyone to see. You became aware of the fact that today, you are a failure. Crystal clear.

And all I can ever do now is be patient. Wait for this internal battle to die down; wait for the fear to subside; wait for the days when failures don't feel like something so crippling; wait for days that don't turn into these quiet nights; wait for the time I don't have these quiet nights anymore; wait to fully realize that I deserve something/someone great; wait to understand that all the damage can be used well.

It could be as slow as the incremental drops from the faucet you keep on forgetting to fix, or as hit-and-miss as to when the sunset sky would turn that perfect shade of periwinkle, but it will come. And maybe one Saturday, I will have this quiet night one last time. Then finally, I will wake up to my perfect Sunday morning.

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