The misadventures of the heart and sometimes, the stomach.


I don’t know who I am anymore. Every day I feel more and more of myself rubbing off, fading into nothingness. With every passing moment I am losing a little more of me. I can’t see what is before me, I don’t know where I am heading. I kept following the voices in the fog. I cling onto them as my compass though at times it seems as if I have been here before, this path seems familiar – am I going around in circles? I don’t trust myself to get out of this make believe maze. I don’t trust that I have the strength or willpower to see through this illusion that I myself have created. I convinced myself, brainwashed myself to thinking that  I need a guide, and it could be anyone. It doesn’t matter that they have not done this before, it does not matter that they are lost themselves. Two blind people walking around in circles.

I give full reign and control of my life over to a stranger holding onto the weak promise that the one before and the one before that had made: I will lead you out of this. I model my desires and nature to mirror them, although what I see reflected back disgusts me. I keep trudging with them by side, one foot in front of the other. Trudge. Repeat. I delude myself to think that with just one more step, with one more push, I will break out of this. That though I am miserable and unhappy, it will work out. It has to work out. And I can convince everyone around me. I am the master of my own charades. But I can’t, despite my best efforts, convince me. 

All that I ever know is being part of someone that it has become more than a want. It has become a sick, obsessive need. This is my oxygen. This is my water. This is my sustenance. Being alone with myself feels foreign, like trying to cycle again though I have never learnt how to. I seek the validation and approval that I don’t need from people I don’t like with my accessory of a man.

You know, I am terrified of being alone. Or at least being alone in my head. 

I look in the mirror sometimes when no one is around. I run my fingers through my hair, trace my face and all the features that is me. Just to make sure that nothing is rubbing off, that I am not fading away. And though I stand there, flesh and bone – solid, I realized that I am hollow. 

My name is Munyee. 

I am 22 years old. 

And I am losing me. 

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