Sometime within last week I noticed that I don’t feel anything. I don’t mean apathy; I mean my entire volume of emotion is missing.
I am not certain if I have misplaced it or put it somewhere I cannot recall — in a drawer maybe or inside the pocket of an unwashed jeans — or if it simply, you know, ran off. I have taken a few paces away from human consciousness, that I am sure, in a state that resembles or embodies mental isolation.
Some days are just difficult. I ricochet between this desire to communicate my internal landscape or to tuck it away, keep this dark, unforgivable shadows in places where none would bother to venture. I am a lost forest filled with lonely trees.
Some days are just difficult. I barely sleep at all. I read and read and read and have surrendered myself to the possibility of going properly mental. My preoccupations lately are filled with series of deaths and suicide and reincarnations and detective stories. If I were to go insane, I would like to keep my readings, my intellect, my imaginations, and my ability to conjure pleasant daydreams for company.
It makes coping easier. It makes life bearable.
Lately, the basic act of getting out of bed becomes grueling, more so facing people, articulating my thoughts, remaining composed and collected and in good spirits. I am spending my hours threading the last years of my existence and secretly and passionately ruing why I was ever been born.
Some days are just difficult. And today is not one of those days.
I am currently in Los Baños and the ancient gods know how I missed this place — the cold night wind, the wide canopy of the towering trees, the blinking street lights, the occasional vehicles, the white statues and gazebos, the university, the comfort of an inward life, the substantial and meaningful conversations, my few old friends.
I feel… happy.
And that is a feeling. And I will cling to it, like a lifeboat, as I confront life face to face and tell it that it cannot defeat me because, in time, things will get better and whatever pain I have will eventually subside.
My heart is still beating and that, in itself, is already a victory.