Really? A new entry already? Can this be true? Is the universe still intact? Check. Is Julianne Moore still the best living actress without a single Oscar? Check. Am I still a nerd trying to find luck in his life? Check. Okay, people, relax, all is fine. Phew. I just wanted to give you a much sought-after update, that’s all. See, I am in a very strange mood right now. How do you feel when on the one hand something beautiful may be - and I’m saying may, because I’ve become very, very careful in this regard - blossoming, while on the other hand every breath you take wreaks of utter exhaustion? (I’ve still got it, apparently… Wannabe-philosophical posts that seemingly don’t make any sense are my specialty. If anyone can decipher any of this, I’ll have to give you a reward. Seriously.) All of this is incredibly personal, of course, and privacy is also an aspect I’ve gradually learnt to deal with in a more mature way. Generally, I open up myself rather easily, which, in many cases, can be dangerous. (And hurtful.) But the reason I’ve actually decided to keep my innermost feelings and complex thoughts to myself is that I don’t want to get on anyone’s nerves. (Hoops, ‘ts to late for that, huh? Forgive me, dear readers. I’ll give you candy for wasting your time. Eventually.)

Exhaustion is a word that lays heavily on my mind… and heart, lately. Never before in my life have I felt this way. Never ever have I had to quickly hide behind a corner so that no one notices I’m bursting into tears… uncontrollably. Never before have I lost seven kilos without noticing. And never before have I wanted to admit to myself that I don’t know what’s going on with me. That, ultimately, I may just not be stronger than my problems. (Which, ironically, aren’t even my problems, but Lord knows I’m not a cold bitch… I can’t help but care. I can’t help but empathize. That’s just me.) ‘Being strong’ is mostly labelled a good thing. Physically strong men are generally considered attractive, emotionally strong people admirable. But there’s nothing enviable about occupying a very special position in a family, in an environment: being the strongest person, that is. Reaching a point where everyone ceases to - excuse my language - give a shit whether you have to run down to the cellar to cry, because usually, and up until now, you’ve always been smiling. Smiling. And smiling. I’ve tried to be the best human being I can be. I’ve been asked to be forgiving, kind, helpful. I’ve been asked to make sacrifices. And I can honestly say - with a conscience as clear as it could be - that I’ve tried. And for the most part, I’ve managed. But I’m living my life. My life. My. And I cannot do this anymore. I can’t take anymore of this. I have to move out. Caring for a mentally ill family member and all of its state-deteriorating side-effects can’t get the better of me. I still want to smile. And smile.

On the other hand, I’m happy. Something exciting may await me on the horizon. I’m sceptical, as always, because in the past, I’ve always ended up being hurt. Truly, truly hurt. And (for the near future, at least), I’m done being hurt. But there’s absolutely no need to be so pessimistic, which is why I’m hoping for the best. And relishing the few exciting and lavishly happy moments I get. For a change.

There’s a beautiful verse in a song by The Smiths, that goes:

Haven’t had a dream in a long time
See, the life I’ve had
Can make a good man bad

So, for once in my life
Let me get what I want
Lord knows, it would be the first time

And I will end this melancholic little post (beautiful, nonetheless), with the title of exactly this song: Please, please, please, let me get me what I want. […] Lord knows, it would be the first time.