The runner

 Ever since I got here everything has been out to get me, I was dropped into a race I never had the intention of participating in. A race that is wearing me out, a race I have to run because I'm wired to win. Every once in a while we are given boosts, delusion and hope. People say these two things are different but to me one is just the other in a wig. Maybe you can differentiate them for me. They work like drugs, see when I take them I see myself across the finish line, wait, is there even a finish line? I've never heard of anyone who crossed it, just mumbles of what it may be like. Oh wait I know, I've cracked it. It's not a race, it's a pursuit we must be running after something. Does anyone know what it is for sure? Because I've heard varying claims. I hear it's happiness, but it cannot be, don't I experience that even in my running? If the reason why we are running is to catch happiness, are we sad? Is that why we are running so hard? We yearn to get rid of the weight of sorrow? When I do manage to catch this joy and happiness, does that mean saddening things will not happen to me? Or will they still happen but I'll have enough happiness to power through this sadness. Is there a point of chasing happiness so hard if even when I get it I will still be susceptible to sadness? I'm still running by the way, I'm tired. I fall countlessly, but I have my people they pick me up. We run together, we met in this race and chose each other. We chose to pursue together. Sometimes we differ, we choose different paths or run at different speeds. That doesn't bother me a lot. What does is that sometimes this race is ruthless, it eats away at us slowly, turning our sprints into jogs then to walks then to a mark-time or a standstill. The minute you stop moving something will get you. Or maybe that's why we are running. We are running to save ourselves. I'm running from something faceless. Maybe those ahead of me know what it is and that's why they are moving so fast. But I do not, and sometimes I lapse in concentration and feel it breathing on my neck so I keep sprinting. But sometimes I want to stop and turn. Turn and face this thing, fear without cause is paranoia and I refuse to be paranoid. But what if I turn, ready to face it and it never comes. Or I fight it for so long I forget what I was chasing. Ah I hate how many 'what ifs" there are. I have made an analogy that I myself do not understand and have been placed  at the center of it.