There is a song by George Strait called "I Hate Everything.” It hits home to me, and I don't hate everything, but I like nothing. That is a big difference. My life has been sleeping, waking, working, sleeping, waking, working, and, in between, doing things for other people. I do not feel sad. I do not feel happy. I feel nothing at all except muscle and joint pain.
Yup, that is a fact. I feel nothing—just a void. I feel an absence if such a thing is possible. I think the blank page, silence, dark matter, dishwater. I move through the world, and things happen that I know I should feel, but instead of feeling, nothing happens. It's unsettling, like turning the key in a car’s ignition and not starting. At least it should be, but I don't feel that way. Yet again, I do not think so. So, feeling nothing must be a great break from feeling terrible. Right?
Feeling nothing makes me feel like I am not human. I do not think I am depressed. I am just a shell sitting alone on the beach with nothing around me—a walking and talking corpse. The human experience with emotion removed isn’t a human experience – it’s no experience.
I think most of this numbness is due to the fact I always worried about caring for my son and others and never had a concern for me. I have a high level of self-induced stress, which makes it worse. I do not think of taking my life, but I am not afraid to be done. One big reason is that the fundamental human I practically gave my life for seems to care less for me than I do. Hurts.
That’s it. Because I don’t have any stunningly insightful recommendations on how to fix myself, I can only remind myself that the problem wasn’t always there and won’t always be there. I have to wait and trust. One day, I will feel again emotionally.
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