skeletons in my cupboard

Feeling existential today. And someone in class commented ther other day in Art Theory Class that existential essentially means in modern words - emo.

More than anything else, the body feels hollowed out; every signal detected in the cranial brain forms echos and loud resonance that throbs against the heart. Resulting in bruises where the scars have been.

For a temporal moment, almost everything is over. For now. The SAT 1 that required concentration, driven by my need to prove for once that I could complete and work hard. The attachment that has been nothing but a nuisance blockage to be passed; in all sense of irony made me out to be a nuisance the organizers wished to dispose of.

In this moment, I pause before I plunge into the deep waters once more, I find myself breathless as the hidden currents swept me away into a whirl pool. Problems, issues and skeletons in the past arising from my recent endeavors, those I had ignored, came over like the waters that swallowed me whole. I didn't find air, I found the burning flames.

The fair attachment was far from expectations, though I'm not sure if its mine or the organizers. It changed my perspectives and added doubts like salt and pepper to my plans.

Perhaps, I'm not as successful as I thought. Maybe, the false facade shows. In the flamboyant, showy display of emotions, and smart witty words, my falsity and shallow emotions stuck out like neon lights in the village night skies. The subtleties of the industry drives me to the wall; I'm reminded of the reasons I left the biennale. The reasons and emotions that I've almost psycho-ed myself to forget( till now), that I was successful and welcomed in the council and my ex-working team.

The managers who saw me as a fly to be swat and to be asked to leave. Indignant, and pride then flared in response refused to be kept in check - my cool exterior was after all not seamless. Sickness, whether real or false entered the stage once more, uninvited but evidently not wanting to leave. Lies and cover-ups that came up in conversations as the urge to blend in and maintain the masquerade.

The regret deftly stirred into the pot as HC students came up to the counter. The has been, could be stood as reminders in stark contrast to my own predicament of counter jobs and factory packing. The regrets and pain that could not be showed and could only be covered up with more lies.

The finishing blow didn't come till, a classmate voiced and second for the first time in my life - the mask that I held all these while. I suddenly realized today the large difference between knowing the facade yourself and having others see it and believe it.

"J, have you hit puberty?" I was wondering her point of this conversation. Then she directed it in the direction of my lack of interest in boys, and I got it. I do have a healthy interest in relationships and love, though rarely in specific males. But, the mask I wore does not have this interest, she is flawless, focused and without distractions.

I answered: "Yes, but I was born without a heart." Sightly truthful, as I didn't put my heart into most of the things I do everyday. All conversations were held for the every purpose of holding them - I never remember details about others, all these being insignificant to me.

The hollowness within me echo-ed out. And kept ringing through the train ride home.

For now. that's all I'm echo-ing here.
I'm going to stop it with productive work. I refuse to drown in this pain, I'll rather drown building a different future. The only problem being: I'm running short on oxygen and strength.