Fear tastes.

Things are not going to be okay. I thought time will heal a lot of things and I put a lot of stake on it, but nothing can help me out of this. I am not miserable... I am scared. I think for the first time in my life, my knees are shaking of tomorrow. Partially because I know my misery will never go away, but more importantly, because of the recent changes I have been witnessing.

I've been buying Vodafone cards only to find there are ones in my wallet that I haven't consumed and I don't even remember when I bought them. I've been forgetting appointments I apparently gave to people. I've been forgetting names of people. Lack of concentration is a bitch - and it won't be long before I lose my job. I've been forgetting all those little details that seem so little to everyone but seem like mega sins to any corporate fella. Last week, I sent an email to a client in the UK without a subject header - can you fucking imagine? I've been boasted off with for the past years at my mastery in verbal and written communication... but alas, I am a mediocre 22 year old maid who can't tell what day is today without looking at her Windows blue tool bar. I am failing constantly to be the corporate bitch because of my lack of concentration, and at those depression times, it won't be long before several corporate bitches slit each others' throats to take my place.

That's not where it stops... After I lose my job and I am penniless, I will probably go down a Heliopolis street to have a walk for a break or so, because that will be all I can afford. However, even then, I shall hurt myself greatly. Last night, I walked into an iron piece hanging out of a wall and it hit my forehead and glasses... I am so lucky it didn't break my glasses or I would have lost my sight, but now my forehead is swollen greatly. Furthermore, I nearly killed myself crossing the street three times in the past seven days because I can't 'concentrate' enough to remember to look sideways for crossing cars.

Thus, I am scared. And I am scared greatly. I am scared I will wind up as a victim of tasteless repetition. I am scared I will always be a slave to heartbreaks... an open door for a man to come inside, break and shatter my insides, light his cigarette out with his foot on the floor of me and leave without a word. I am afraid, very afraid, I will have to spend more time thinking about how to avoid my parents' pressure than ever wondering what do I want for myself. I am scared I will never get out of my past... I will always suffer yearning and nostalgia to people who were never deserving. I am... only afraid.