I need to find joy in my life. Real joy. Joy that bubbles deep inside me and not just brushes my surface. Joy that glows off my face. My own joy.
Like any day after an episode, I feel lifeless. It’s a strange sensation. A mix of numbness and out of bodyness. As if nothing is connected to you, nothing can touch you and you can feel nothing.
My face falls and for once I get what that means. It’s as if every muscle in my face has gone limp. Every muscle worn out. My skin hangs on my face, feeling the pull of gravity… As the rest of my body continues. My hands hanging lifeless. My legs stepping as if robotic, not feeling the ground.
In that moment when I’m alone, before I bump into someone and smile, it’s as if I don’t exist. My body doesn’t exist. I’m just a shell. A shrunken snail lost within its structure. Nothing penetrates it. Not warmth, not emotion, not love. It’s as if for a moment, I’ve crossed world’s. Nothing matters. Not sound. Not taste. Not air. I’m dead, barely hanging on to life. I’m bone.
My eyes burn from the cessless sobbing that wore me down to sleep. I feel the swollen pain but am disconnected from it. My eyes are empty sockets that no one sees through.
It’s not in these moments that I think about death. In these moments, there is no life to walk away from. No energy to think. No purpose. No determination to die.
I breathe as if air is not connected to me. It’s just passes through, reaching nothing.
Not a single thought in my mind. A black hole. A black hole that I saw coming but that I couldn’t stop.
It’s the bottom of the pit. A place so dark that it’s hard to see what turns could be taken. Hard to head in the direction of light.
All you can do is wait. Sometimes you find a hand that pulls you out. Sometimes you find a rope to pull yourself out. Sometimes you just sit and stare at the floor, and become the dark emptiness.
Thats how I feel today. I’m just staring at the floor. Not moving. Not seeing. Not thinking.
I had a thought today while autopiloting to work.
Maybe I’m just not meant for greatness. Maybe I just had all these dreams and desires building inside me from watching movies and hearing of other people’s success, but it wasn’t for me. I don’t find the great love or the great job nor do I have do anything great. Maybe I was just born to be average. To sit down with the crowd. To have an average life. Maybe I was just meant to always be alone. To not have those friends or family or loved ones that are so intertwined with your life they become a part of you.
Maybe I was just born to deal with it all alone. That was my path. I latched on to the idea that things could change. I got consumed by hope.
But that hope was not for me.