And you know why? Because no one makes it to the top without sacrificing things that make them human. I’m not at the top, and that probably means that I haven’t sacrificed enough. But it also means that there are still people who may conceivably love me, who know me and still love me.
You can’t know all about me and still love me. I barely do. And I am — me. Despite all my egoism, it takes so much effort to love myself sometimes, how can I expect it from other people? It’s so exhausting though, being this person that others can love, and being so much else underneath. Maybe I needed to go into acting after all, I play the part so well sometimes. I used to. I slip more often now.
And there, you’re telling me, there is no probability of me making it, that proverbial grade called success! Who are you to know? Who am I? I’ve traveled roads you’ll never dream of, and I’ve made it big, I’ve made it bigger than you’re likely to experience. You’re as big as your dreams are, they say, but it’s not a big deal to dream when you have all the tools to make them come true. It’s when you have nothing that your dreams are worth the world!
Will you love me if I make it? No, you fool, I’ve made it already. I’m not even half-way through, and I’ve “made” so much, that I– I sometimes don’t want to make anything else anymore. So many messes. So much pain. So many promises I could never fulfill. And even now you don’t love all of me! Perhaps no one but my mother ever did. Perhaps no one should…
It’s not too late, please do not challenge! I will regret it, and so may you. I fear the lonely top, but one thing that’s stronger than my fear is my anger. How do you think I made it this far?