I’ve waxed sadly and angrily across this forum for almost 8 years now. Even if I haven’t been understood, I always come back to this place eventually. It’s the only place I’ve ever truly and candidly spoken about my experiences in life.
Over the years my mind has developed, even though my emotions remain undetectable to me pretty much 24/7. I’ve realized that this planet, my city, my apartment, hell even my friends. They’ve never been my home. My earliest memories and my most recent memories both contain this alienating sense that I’m just not supposed to be here.
I’ve been keeping up a charade, with the intention of it one day becoming me. 2 decades later and I’m still just here. Nothing more. No desire or aspiration. No identity of any kind beyond the insincerity that keeps me somewhat in the realm of social convention.
At the end of the day, when nobody is around I just cease to be. I’ve begun to think it’s because I don’t belong here. I don’t understand what I am or how I feel. I don’t connect to anyone. I’m just…here. Keeping jobs and placating to friendships I never earned. I feel a regular urge to just vanish. I find myself wishing to be forgotten so there is nobody left to hurt when I’m finally done.
I don’t want to hurt anyone, and frankly I just can’t. But there are many days even in the recent past where I just want out. Not because of self loathing or despair. Just to know that the emptiness in me will no longer have a body to haunt. Such escape is a luxury. One I simply cannot afford in every sense of the term. I’m stuck here.
Alexithymia and anhedonia make my life an emotionless one. And I’ve learned a life without emotion is simply a life without life itself. It is a life that cannot be truly lived. Only survived. Cheers to our survival friends. Take care of what’s left in you.
Over the years my mind has developed, even though my emotions remain undetectable to me pretty much 24/7. I’ve realized that this planet, my city, my apartment, hell even my friends. They’ve never been my home. My earliest memories and my most recent memories both contain this alienating sense that I’m just not supposed to be here.
I’ve been keeping up a charade, with the intention of it one day becoming me. 2 decades later and I’m still just here. Nothing more. No desire or aspiration. No identity of any kind beyond the insincerity that keeps me somewhat in the realm of social convention.
At the end of the day, when nobody is around I just cease to be. I’ve begun to think it’s because I don’t belong here. I don’t understand what I am or how I feel. I don’t connect to anyone. I’m just…here. Keeping jobs and placating to friendships I never earned. I feel a regular urge to just vanish. I find myself wishing to be forgotten so there is nobody left to hurt when I’m finally done.
I don’t want to hurt anyone, and frankly I just can’t. But there are many days even in the recent past where I just want out. Not because of self loathing or despair. Just to know that the emptiness in me will no longer have a body to haunt. Such escape is a luxury. One I simply cannot afford in every sense of the term. I’m stuck here.
Alexithymia and anhedonia make my life an emotionless one. And I’ve learned a life without emotion is simply a life without life itself. It is a life that cannot be truly lived. Only survived. Cheers to our survival friends. Take care of what’s left in you.
