I know why I've gone down that road. I do. I won't pretend it was a choice - or that I even had a choice, for that matter. Because that's what my life looks like; that's what my life always looked like. Running around. Pretending not to be here. Jumping from obsession to obsession. Finding something to keep my head busy, because I don't want to face reality. Because I can't face reality.

That's my life. That's always been my life.

But I'm finally at that point in my life where I'm not sure if it's helping me or it's bringing me down.

Frankly, it doesn't matter what happened this time around. It's not even anything serious, certainly not something to feel so down about. I shouldn't be so affected by this. I shouldn't be affected by this at all. But then C started talking about everything that could happen, and she just wouldn't stop, and from there on, I've just been spiraling down. Out of control. Still having no idea how I'm feeling or why.

Other than frightened, that is.

But I've no reason to be frightened. Or down. I've no reason for this to affect me. 

Except that I let it go too far.

An awful lot of money. An awful lot of time. Making him the centre of my world. I've been a fan; I've admired; but it's never been like that. Partly because of who he is, I suppose. But partly probably from him being there in the right time, when I needed distraction and hope the most. 

Not to say he isn't worth it and so much more. He's such a kind, gentle, beautiful soul. He's radiant, really. I thought the buzz around him was too much, that he was overrated, but he really isn't, even if not for the reason most people admire him.

But there's a line between being a fan and being obsessed. I know that line all too well, so I'm really not worried about crossing it. But it's the line past obsession that I'm beginning to worry about. Which is probably somewhere in the zone of obsessive love. And that's not okay.

The irony is in the fact I'm flying to see him - ish - in less than a day and a half. In less than a fucking day and a half. And now I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing.

No, scratch that, I know I've gone too far and it's probably not good for me. And I fucking hate myself.

But I have to keep pretending, and hopefully after a night's sleep I can get excited about it again. Hopefully, now that I've let it all out, I can file it for later and deal with it after I come back.  Hopefully.

The only thing I'm sure of is that I'm a complete and utter mess.