I fell asleep, only to wake up and discover that the only person that I can be accurately is myself. Fervent searching in the night time air for who I was, besides the daytime show I present. The packaging I put around my heart was the ace bandage for the hurt I held captive instead of relieving and releasing. I whispered to myself in the quite stark night. Repeatedly I said "I am disillusioned to be the poor pitiful victim." But I was neither poor, nor pitiful, nor a victim except in my own mind. I was and always wanted to mask my life into this beautiful package of hurt. I awoke afraid of becoming this new me or rather my original me. I prayed so that my authenticity would affront my counterfeit me. That old me was a reminder and a savage truth that would haunt me for the rest of my life. I would not be bamboozled again. I confronted it so passionately for I wanted my soul back. Truth returned my soul.
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