Somewhere, out there, there's a parallel reality. There lives an alternative version of myself. A version of myself that has come where I should be by now, that has done the things that remain undone, that has lived what I've missed all these passed years. A somewhat perfect version. One that doesn't let emotions and feelings crash her into the walls that life has built around her, that can control her life according to the shit that happens, no matter how difficult the path of life gets.
Someone who makes her mother proud of her, instead of feeling like the failure in her life. Someone who isn't obsessed about her weight and looks in order to please those who don't matter. Someone who doesn't deceives her entourage with stupid actions and temporary breakdowns. Someone who shows what she really is able to do, instead of letting fear and lack of fate ruin the little she has built.
I've come to a point where instead of climbing up the mountain, I've managed to fall down of it, one crash a time. And it's probably to late to make a u-turn by now. I've lost control of so many things, but the worst is that I don't know how to control myself anymore. It's like being on the wheel of a car with no breaks, with my foot pressed on the gas pedal.