i can't tell you what it really is, i can only tell you what it feels like,
and right now,
there's a steel knife in my windpipe,
i can't bloody breathe.
one of those things that keep coming back. don't feel like repeating it to anyone.
so many people would ask how it was
smile and say it went okay,
but did you win? lost by two points.
said it so many times it's kind of become hard to believe.
see people giving out leave forms for thursday. statuses about it.
congratulations. you guys did awesome.
and you feel really, really stupid that all that matters.
but it does.
at the end of the day,
shooting is about three digits. i don't know why,
but tell me who doesn't think of it in that way?
so just stop telling me that it's going to be okay,
or asking me for that matter.
i'm not. once and for all, i'm not okay.
i don't think i'll ever be okay again.
and as superficial and stupid and selfish it seems to be harping on this,
you have no idea.
it's not that i'm trying to stretch it and make it sound sympathetic,
so more people will come up to me and pat my shoulder,
and tell me that it's just one competition, you'll do better next time?
i know. okay? i know.
it's not about doing better next time.
it's about how we didn't get it this time.
and yes, it is that.
i have never, i swear. i have never been like this before.
not when some idiot stole my handphone and wallet in secondary one.
not when i screwed up my tests,
not when i did some other shit that got me in trouble.
never.
and i have no bloody idea how to deal with it because it just keeps coming back
and when it does, it comes back in waves.
huge, tsunami types. washes over you and suddenly, all the positivity that was heaped onto you just disappears.
i will never be okay. so stop telling me to be.
it's not like i particularly enjoy sitting around ranting something i can't change.
you know that this nationals would have defined everything.
all i know is that we could have should have would have.
i have no idea how i'm going to pick myself off of this.
and for the first time, i don't have a plan for this.
i don't have a post-it with a list.
i don't have anything, actually.
seems like a whole other universe away.
we are all shooters,
but when we watch out for others,
who's watching out for us?
days like these when you stop searching under your bed for monsters,
when you start to realise,
the monsters are all in us.
i'm really, really sorry.
i'm sorry for complaining so much about it.
i'm sorry for telling everyone the same old shit.
i'm sorry for being the worst company now.
i'm sorry to all the people who think i should just get over it.
i'm sorry to everyone who tried to make me feel better.
i'm sorry for the eights. and nines that should have touched tens.
i'm super sorry for being suck a wreck yesterday and today.
i'm sorry, gina. for screwing up the very thing you believed in.
i'm sorry, i'm still thinking about it non-stop.
but mostly and i'm just sorry, yulian. i'm really, really sorry. and i want you to know that you are a great shooter, and you will do it tomorrow at nationals, and you will get what you want with your team, and you've worked so hard for this you deserve the best and don't stop believing and just keep in mind that feeling you had when they put the medal over your neck, or when you roll back an inner ten, or when your coach smiles at you and nods. or the times we ran out of the range at nine forty five pm. tomorrow, do your best and believe that your best is enough. you can do it, captain.
you can. and it will be enough.
no matter what it is, if i'm even entitled to say this,
i'm proud of you too.
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