Feeling nothing is unpleasant. It might not be painful, but it surely renders a sickening discomfort to the newly barren expanse of existing as a ghost. At times it almost seems as though feeling absolutely nothing at all is worse than feeling hurt. The chronic emptiness, the crippling loneliness... they are like a nausea which will not go away... I am washed out at sea, indolently rocked by the ocean's currents which keep me afloat but leaves me lost. I can somehow miss the interjection of pain amidst the vast, grey void. At least it reminds us that we are alive.
The lows are, understandably, pitiful. Once sunken into the dark, unfathomable depths it is seemingly impossible to drag oneself from the mire. You can fall unexpectedly too; in a moment a minor incident can throw you from the level terrain of comparative emotional stability into the rocky chasm of absolute turmoil. Worse still, the higher you fly, the deeper you plummet. The potential for subsequent despair jades even happiness with a sense of danger and trepidation.
I don't think I'd be here however without the sporadic highs. Disorientating though they can be when the mania and hyperactivity is so intense that I feel I might be losing myself in the exhilarating whirlwind of my thoughts and actions, to be floating above one's surroundings in a strange yet delightful haze of delirium can be an oasis amidst an otherwise torturous existence. Who wouldn't want to feel happy? Even if the manic sentiments are purely superficial, an armour of glorious ecstasy enveloping and, ephemerally, eclipsing the internal anguish, they still feel better. I could describe it like being in a curious daydream you don't want to wake up from. Logic tells you it is all a figment of the imagination and will soon swiftly leave your mind in a potentially abrupt and frightening manner, a flurry of newborn starlings leaving their nest; but this knowledge does not necessarily hinder you from (foolishly) allowing yourself to be swept up in the romance of the euphoric sentiments. It truly is a crying shame that the good times all have to come to an end. More often than not I find they meet a miserable fate.
It isn't just the volatility which is draining, but the nature of my sensitivity and relation to others in terms of what has been described as a 'fatal sense of empathy.' I simply cannot stop feeling for other people. Blotting paper for the suffering of others, I can't help but absorb their pain on top of my own. I know that it is only detrimental for me given that it reliably sends me into self-destruct mode, but upon hearing that there is someone struggling or witnessing their decline I become dangerously pre-occupied, even if the anxieties go unspoken. It literally kills me. I can cry myself to sleep over someone who, though I've never met, I'm aware is in poor health; or spend hours ruminating, worrying myself sick over those poor girls I left behind in that horrible place. What am I supposed to do to stop seeing and feeling all this suffering? There is no way to expunge my thoughts of worry, nor my breaking heart of its pains for them. There is so much hurt everywhere; I just can't not notice it. I can't stop it from affecting me, more deeply than I can begin to describe. It is utterly impossible to detach my mind or heart from it: I cannot forget, I cannot forget, I simply cannot forget.
In essence it isn't just that I've been through too much; it's that I've seen others go through too much and it still haunts me day and night. I mind that there are people out there in misery who I am powerless to help, and I mind to a damaging degree. Of course it is difficult for anyone to move on, but the past seems inescapable for me, as does the continuation of suffering which pervades the present. There is little solace from the perpetual grief - I am sad to say - and I'm not sure how to go about finding any, unless in the near future there were to be some technological advancements toward brain transplants which as it is I may well be morally wary about. Perhaps there is no answer. No escape from my woes. Is it possible for one's life to embody an eternal grief process?
If I cannot turn off my mind the best thing I can do I suppose is to enrich my life with joy as oppose to allowing myself to succumb to the darkness within. I am endeavouring to look forward instead of back but it is far from easy when it truly is a day-to-day battle. Maybe I need to accept that I will always be emotionally fragile as a result of what has happened, and particularly susceptible to the stresses suffered by others as well as myself; I might never be able to move on. The best thing I can do for now is to live, in spite of it all. I will; for those I love and care for if not for myself. I have good experiences ahead of me if I can make it and - typically, as a testament to my rapidly fluctuating mood - I am determined to. I am going explore the wonders of this world with those most precious to me. I am going to embrace new discoveries and take joy in the positive memories I do have deep down. If only there was a way to erase the anterior areas of the brain which have been wounded by trauma and torment... perhaps my mind and spirit would be sanctuaries rather than cemeteries.
No comments:
Post a Comment