Surely, I am not fully present.
This world is a dream land that I observe from outside.
I watch, numb to all feeling, having been necessarily desensitized; perhaps permanently. I am bored and lost, nothing satisfies me yet I do not know what will heal my restlessness. I ache for excitement, but a living paradox, I long for solitary retreat. I do not know what I want, what I need. I have everything and nothing. What more does this world have for me? Have I seen it all? I am apathetic to all people and all things, I have a hatred for human interaction yet a yearning for meaning and companionship. Simultaneously desperate and distant.
Mountains look like a manufactured diorama.
Beauty, a misty illusion.
Delight is absent from deliciousness.
Compassion is absent from companionship.
I am suspicious of all generosity.
Love must be impossible, a hallucination in this hell--I do not believe that you are my friend, for so many have hurt me before. This must be one of those horror stories where I am tricked by temptation. Pleasure is a feeling that I have estranged, rejected, it is an undesirable, guilty indulgence. From it I hide. Will I ever feel again? I believe not. For life is too full of deception to leave oneself vulnerable to experience. To embrace joy is to face inevitable discouragement, it will become disappointment in time. To trust one's senses is to be blinded by sensation. To trust one's heart is to be naked to the hatred of the universe. I am paralyzed by disbelief and doubt. For I have been disillusioned too many times
My heart broken
My hopes dashed
My efforts thwarted
As I am left in utter melancholy,
Incompetent, unimportant, and in fact
I do not suffer from depression, you see,
For I am impermeable even to such swarms of sadness
But rather I am plagued by the torturous lack of feeling altogether,
The dishonorable indifference that protects me
As the world passes by my glazed eyes
And I do not care.