Corect the spelling and puntuation of this text to improve reablity and flow:“This nightmare engulfed me, plunging me into a state of utter helplessness,” I said, my voice trembling with emotion. “I didn’t know what to do,” I added, barely escaping my lips. “Deep humiliation and a heavy sense of self-loathing consumed me,” I lamented, my voice filled with anguish. As tears streamed down my face, I hailed a taxi, seeking solace in the hollow comfort of its anonymity. “Overwhelmed by uncertainty,” I confessed, my voice wavering, “I kept wondering if I should have disclosed my single status.” Regret and self-doubt coursed through my veins, leaving me mortified and humiliated. “And those opinions of my female colleagues at work,” I sighed, the weight of their judgment intensifying my anguish. A profound sadness gripped my being, making it feel impossible to ever summon the courage to ask a man out again. “I wanted to retreat from the world, to vanish into obscurity,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “But amidst the darkness,” I continued, “a realization slowly dawned upon me.” “I yearned for a partner who embodied ease and connection,” I confessed, my voice filled with longing. “Someone who would embrace my insecurities, unafraid to show their emotional side.” “A lover whose words flowed effortlessly, resonating with depth,” I added, my voice full of hope. “I longed for a love that mirrored my passion for life itself,” I exclaimed, the fervor in my voice palpable. Reflecting on my past experiences, I realized the limited exposure I had to the presence of men. “Attending an all-girls academy,” I explained, my tone tinged with nostalgia, “my interactions were primarily with a female faculty, save for my father.” “Public speaking and performing on stage became second nature to me,” I recalled, my voice carrying a hint of confidence, “while scientific knowledge and writing skills remained unexplored territories in my life’s narrative.” “I was confident in my knowledge,” I continued, “and wouldn’t have accepted that things weren’t easily solved, so I was pleased with myself.” “In our class,” I added, “there were a few boys who always stayed in the same group and didn’t mix with us socially.” “We would engage in arts and crafts and create small paintings and sculptures,” I said, “but we didn’t have any watercolor paint, so we couldn’t paint outside.” “He stood before me, tall and confident, with piercing blue eyes that seemed to see right through me,” I said, my heart racing at the memory. “His voice was deep and soothing, like a melody that I couldn’t get enough of,” I added. “As we talked,” I continued, “I couldn’t help but notice the graceful movement of his hands as he spoke, using subtle gestures to emphasize his words.” “He leaned in slightly, as if sharing a secret,” I said, “making me feel like I was the most important person in the world to him at that moment.” “When he gave me the books,” I said, “I remember feeling the smooth covers under my fingertips, hearing the sound of the pages rustling as I turned them, and smelling the ink and paper.” “As I read,” I continued, “I was transported to different worlds and times, each one more fascinating than the last.” “He made me feel like I could understand these complex ideas,” I said, “and that I had something valuable to contribute to the conversation.” “He was an inspirational figure,” I said, “someone of action, someone of spirit, and someone I wanted to emulate.” “He said nothing,” I continued, “but the silence was palpable.” “I could feel my heart racing as I searched for a response,” I said, “but my mind was blank.” “The room felt suffocatingly quiet,” I added, “and I could hear the sound of my own breathing.” “His gentle touch on my shoulder brought me back to the present moment,” I said. “He could sense my embarrassment and self-consciousness,” I continued, “and he knew just what to do.” “With his guidance,” I said, “I learned how to embrace my true self and let go of my insecurities.”