I was sure that once I was off the meds, everything would come flooding back to me. Like feelings for a long lost lover I just ran into after ten years of us being apart. Everything would just pick up where it left off, and it'd all be pizzas and blowjobs.
I was wrong.
Everything is exactly the same. There's no sudden bursts of inspiration. No brilliant ideas at three in the morning. Maybe I haven't given it enough time. My thoughts are consumed. Consumed with objects . Consumed with obsessions on new phones that kick my current phone's ass. You know; dumb, pointless shit. I've always been insightful. I can't help but feel kidnapped. Like my soul was robbed of its true self. And I know I've got soul because I just feel so cloudy lately. Not like when you have a cold. This is different. This is worse. I'd call it death, but I'm pretty sure death feels just like home, the way you feel when you're falling asleep. This is... torture.
You're in this really gorgeous place. A place you always wanted to go. Maybe it's France, maybe it's Rome. Maybe it's a place that doesn't even exist. The point is, you're there. Only you can't see it. You feel it. You hear it. But you can't see it. So you can't make you're way around, you can't enjoy it. Can't get the full experience. Why can't you see it? There's thick fog everywhere. And it's only there for you. It's only in your way. Now I have a question for you: How the fuck do you get rid of it?
I can't breathe. I do what I love. What I'm good at, what I'm passionate about. And it just isn't the same. I'm not in there 100% and so the outcome is just empty. I'm always looking forward to something. And it just seems that when the day finally arrives, the excitement lasts significantly less than all the waiting did. I'm sure there's something wrong with that. I do what I tell others to do; find the little things that make you happy, make you feel like a kid again. For me that's lollipops, long baths, being alone and talking to myself. How much of that do I need to do before it makes a difference?
Don't get me wrong, I'm not sad at all. I'm just sort of numb. You know when they numb you at the dentist, or the hospital, and they do what they gotta do? You feel it, but it doesn't hurt. That's what I'm talking about. I'm dragging my feet through life like I got weights on my ankles, because frankly, not feeling anything is exhausting. When something I've been waiting for happens, my brain says "Be happy! Get excited!" the message doesn't really get through. I don't feel that skip in my heart, that flutter in my stomach, that rush in my veins. I'm kinda reading a book about a character I don't really care about.
Maybe I'm having trouble processing reality. Maybe it just doesn't hit me. But I know I'm capable. I know it because the one time it does hit me is when it comes to love. That, I feel full force. Love, I get high off of. So I can feel. Just not when it comes to my own self. Do I not think I'm important?
I refuse to believe I need pills! I functioned perfectly fine before them. And I was a cutter, but I wasn't the type of cutter who did it to feel real. I did it because I felt way too much emotion. Ah, and now I don't feel enough. Ironic. I ask myself, "are you satisfied? Is this what you wanted?"
What I'd give to feel again.
Maybe I need yoga.
saatchiart: Desert Dream by: David Snider Germany Original:... - saatchiart: Desert Dream by: David Snider Germany Original: $2,500
3 years ago