Some days, I feel like I'm constantly distracted.
Deliberately inattentive of my circumstances.
I feel drunk, senses blurred and confused,
and then when I come back to the ground,
when I come back to reality and actually stop to look,
I realize my true state:
disheartened by everything and everyone, left unapologetic and pessimistic. I'm bothered by my negativity, as my soul is woven with love and compassion. And I wouldn't even stop to remember it if not for the little wake-up calls that came my way.
I was walking down the brick path, brow furrowed and heavy footed. It wouldn't be long until the wrinkles in my forehead permanently etched themselves into my skull. The wind blew little specks of dust and dirt into my face, clouding my irritated, and slowly watering eyes.
I saw a group of children walking opposite of me, a look of free spirit and livelihood still lighting up their innocent faces. Although they may only be a year or two younger than me, this life had aged my soul truly and purely.
My impulse at seeing anyone was to just scream. I wanted someone to try to provoke me, just so that I could let out my frustrations onto them. I wanted to cry, I wanted to shout, until my lungs had no more air, until my legs gave out beneath me. I wanted to run, as fast as humanly possible, as far as my legs could take me, far away from the world, and all of its complexities.
I was burning on the inside,
itching to do something,
trying to feel something.
I yearned for a connection of any sort. I didn't know which void I needed to fill, but I knew that there was one. I was hollow, and unable to grasp any feeling. I found them to be easier to write about, than consciously felt. These are things that I wanted; to feel burning passion, of any sort.
But here I was, arms flailing, gasping for air, searching for
someone, something to hold on to.
Happiness. I aspired to feel truly content. Not only indifferent.
Love. This, I have so much of, but it's all lost within the abyss of my mind. My anxiety occupies so much of the space, I've forgotten who I even used to be: the friend who writes near-essays for everyone's birthdays, the one who makes gift giving a personal challenge, the one who'd drop anything and everything for anyone she loved.
Even anger. At least then, I'd be feeling something. Anger towards the universe for never letting anything go my way? Anger towards my family, for shaping me into the bitter shriveled up being that I've become?
As long as I had ever existed, I had always been the most empathetic person I'd known. Through all the highs and the lows, I always knew exactly what I felt. But suddenly, I didn't know where or who I was.
Blurry nights, insignificant and unattributed tears.
Days and weeks of bottled up, scrambled thoughts;
an infinite numbness.
I wanted to feel something.
One morning, a plump, young boy reached his fist out to me as I walked down that path. His eyes were a rich brown, but also wide and bright. Flustered by my thoughts, it took me a second to process what was actually happening in front of me, in the real life world. I found myself smiling uncontrollably, and bumped my fist against his. I continued to walk and wondered whether my troubles were facially evident. But as I passed the group, I smiled again, for a split second, and controllably that time. At that moment, I felt quite reassured.
I felt calmer. I didn't want to scream anymore.
I wanted to put in all my efforts to help another soul to feel the things that I knew I didn't. I wanted to give others the hope that there was still something good left in this messed up world. Because even though I didn't feel that good coming my way, I wanted others to have it, and to cherish it.
Many times, I will be among loved ones, friends, family. One moment will be full of life, with lighthearted jokes and free-spirited laughs. But the next, I will fall silent. The cycle will begin once again. And the sad part is, I won't even know why. My muteness will be inexplicably painful, but inevitable nonetheless. And I will know that I have to ride the wave out.
And in those moments, I want to cry, until I have no more tears left to shed.
I want to sleep, and never wake up.
I want to disappear and never return.
I want to do so much. I want to be so much. I want to feel so much.
I want to express it all,
but I am a puzzle that even I am struggling to piece together.
I barely understand myself, so how can anyone else? So I accept it. I accept all of the confusion and all of the nonsense.
I talk myself out of anything good that can ever come from something. I doubt each and every possible thing that there is to doubt, until-- "Hey, you're so quiet, what are you thinking about?"