Me: slithering to gobble me up

It’s not that I can’t care less. 

I remind myself not to let the idea in because I’m afraid I might care way too much. Of what? you must be asking. 

I don't know. 

I am too aware of people's thoughts reading my writings. I admit I am. They are like mirrors. They are like rulers which I use to measure ME. Will they laugh at me and say “oh look at this funny kid” or “ha you see here’s another kid who makes a big deal out of a tiny-pea matter.” with a kids-nowadays-cant-help face. “They are absurd.” “They don’t even know the right words.”

Sometimes I write to, sort of, remind myself when I’m getting a bit lost, not because I have learnt a lesson from something but I know if I don’t write it down to make myself understand better, I might fall into a mess. I am explaining the whats-right-whats-wrong to myself and ask myself to stick to it like a conviction.

If I ever get mentally ill, it must have been my desire to surpass others and my too-strong-will to excel working, getting me locked up in this acute space called body, throwing the weights that weigh tons on me. It must have been it. It must have been myself. I’m my worst enemy because I can’t beat me up because we are just the same. Me knows what I am thinking. When I learn something Me learns it too. So when I want to destroy Me, she will know it too and she will hide away. You must be saying that I will know her hiding place but no, I can’t. Because I am physical and Me is mental. She is way too stronger. She can hide in the creases between my cerebellum and cerebrum so that I won’t be able to see her. For all I see is a head with hair. 

bloody ME.

I can sense it slithering its way to gobble me up. I know. 

If I ever get mentally ill, it must have been Me working.