I sit quietly, patiently, at my vanity and question my very existence. I ask myself numerous questions, but the most intriguing was but the one: why am I numb?
There’s this constant pressure to have particular grades, to consistently produce quality work, and to maintain the rest of our lives to a point. I did not want to admit it, but the word ‘can’t’ actually has a place in my life. I can’t get straight A’s, keep in detailed contact with every family member and friend, spend time with and care for pets, and ensure that I am physically healthy with an adequate sleep pattern, diet and exercise. There is 24 hours in a day, I’m asleep for about 7 of those hours, on average and at school for another 6.
I’ve reached this point in my life where I know what I want my future to look like, but I’ve simultaneously reached another check point where nothing affects me as strongly as it used to. I would have break downs, panic attacks, fits, and outburst because I could not understand the chapter I was reading, or because too many things were frustrating me at once. Now, I barely blink at the sight of an unfamiliar piece of text and am hardly phased by the loss of a friend.
Everything and everyone has come and gone. Opportunities have arisen and collapsed in front of my very eyes. It is the yearning to see my future unfold that keeps me going at all. What will I become and how far will I go? Who will disappear next and who will enter my endless maze of destruction? Tune in next time, I remind myself, because something atrocious is bound to occur.
It’s not exciting anymore when you can predict the future. It’s not exciting when you know where the car wheels are rolling to, when you already know what your grocery list says, or when your body wakes you up before your alarm goes off because it no longer needs assistance to wake at the same time every morning.
When everything becomes grey, you search for the slightest hint of white or black; you search for anything to become addicted to, to hurt you, to entice you. You become numb.