At the end of Sunday’s performance, I couldn’t be on a bigger high. The musical had gone well, all that effort had paid off and we had family and friends around us giving us support. Praises, which I believe were sincere, came fast and furious, and everyone had a good time. It was hard not to revel in the feeling. The night didn’t end there and despite a little hiccup in getting to our supper location (which turned out to be at Sin Hoi Sai opposite church), it was great to wind down after the whole day. Even if it ended with a rather disappointing race at San Marino. (*stupidFerrarigrumblegrumble*)

And yet, three days later… it’s gone. Replaced by the cursed seeds of self-pity.

The knowledge that I’m still innately capable of self-destruction is there. The fear that I can still make people uncomfortable with me is once again realised. I don’t choose to be this way, I tell myself, yet I don’t believe it either. To know that I can still be hurt, am still vulnerable, and despite not feeling particularly suicidal, am still prone to bouts of overdramatic thought… causes me to shiver uncontrollably. It seemed so promising, yet I was so aware that it was a fragile balance I controlled. But even the best intentions go awry, and once more, this became a crushing blow to my ego, one that negated the healing that may have taken place within the past months.

It is a scary sensation: The feeling of self-pity, and already now I can imagine the trauma I will suppress, only to unleash on the innocent and unsuspecting. This blog often served as an outlet for pain in the past, but nothing stings like the hurts from the present.