I’ve always wanted to run away from
my life, at twenty me and my best friend would talk about running away to some
place Far Far Away, and we found ourselves in Singapore Universal Studios,
Far Far Away. It still cracks me up until today on how we give our command
to the universe. Yet even after more than a decade of adulthood, I’m still
tired of living in my world. I’m still tired of feeling this way, and I wish I
could buy a one-way ticket to anywhere and never return.
I don’t know what I am not happy
about anymore, the only response I have is “nothing”. There’s no way of
explaining that my heart races uncontrollably to catch up to my racing
thoughts. There’s no way of explaining that I feel things too intensely. There’s
no way of explaining that it’s out of my control. There’s no way of explaining
that I’ve basically lived my entire life as an imposter who has never felt
understood. I’m tired of holding on to this feeling. I’m tired of
dealing with my anxiety.
I have a good life, in fact I have a
great life. I beat myself up every night for feeling this way. I try to keep a
positive energy by throwing myself into as many social functions as I can, and
I hide my brokenness by looking as carefree as I can. Then I go home, lock
inside my room and feel sad again. I thought the pandemic has taught me to stop
running, but it just seems like a disease that cannot be cure.