Rite of Passage
Call this a rite of passage, by all means. I have practically lived a two-week period alone, avoiding any social occassions possible, eating less than a meal daily, living on watching depressing dramas on the DVD, putting any responsibility and commitment aside as if I was a ten-year-old, stopping to feel because I could not afford the energy.
If you asked whether I’m OK, I would put on the most brilliant smile and tell you I am fine, everyday is Fourth of July and every minute is a blessing. Call me sunshine. That is, if you asked.
Simply because I can. Not because I was doing better than anybody. Read the defiance in my eyes? It comes with me and runs in my blood, take the whole package or leave it.
Simply becuase underneath the still water, transition is inevitably mounting. And don’t even deny the changes, we’ve all got eyes sharp enough to spot the odd differences of the picture. The party is over, bang!
There is nothing noble about pretending. Byebye Sunshine ; Hello Rage.
Now, if you would excuse me, I have to go puke and it feels good.
