Another day, another night.
I don’t feel anything. I feel numb. Not happy nor sad.
I feel like I’m moving, changing places, but at the same time standing still.
I feel empty. Like nothingness.
My heart tries to reason I should wake up from this day-dream, but my brain tells me I’m fine. It tells me I don’t need to do anything. It’s content, I’m content, content by continuing in this monotone, steady pace. Not feeling anything, being indifferent.
I don’t have energy to change, regardless, change to what?
I feel like I’m in a desert, a plain, a wasteland with nothing but sand, hills, rocks and the wind. I’m alone, but I don’t feel lonely. I just am, being, breathing. I’m like a sand corn.
I feel I should do something, anything. But I’m afraid of waking up, like waking up a sleepwalker. I’m afraid of what could happen. My world could turn into chaos, panic, an overwhelming feeling.
Change frightens me. Agony. I feel like slipping, losing my foothold. I liked being in an emotionless state, being constant, still. I’m losing myself, but of course I cannot lose myself to me, because that’s what I’ve always been.
Change is for the better or worse in the eye if the beholder, but all I know is that I’ve never felt such truth, calmness and realness than what I just felt.
It’s a paradox, finding light in darkness, longing for an emotionless state of mind when it gives no pleasure or joy, longing for a life where not feeling alive.
I must enter the darkness. I must sleep. Void.