In the stillness and silence of the Saturday afternoon, I find myself tired and alone. Explaining how I feel is a chore because I don’t quite understand it myself. This is not sadness, I know what that feels like. This is not anger because my heart is too heavy to be pushed by its waves. It crashes over me; like lava making its way down a volcano, I do not absorb or deflect, I let it run its course.
This is heavy, this is nothing. Or rather, this is what nothing feels like. I don’t like it.
“Nothing” makes sense to me, though I don’t know why. Everything I feel is an equation, a causality, as if I don’t have feelings of my own. Oftentimes, I wonder if some part of me decided to shut down and everything else followed. More than that, it feels as though I was not granted the privelege of shutting down with it, and so I must live on with a working shell and a failed system. I feel the sparks in my knees and elbows, the creaks in my rib cages and the currents on the back of my neck – all of which are reminders of what I used to have: that something was there and that it was working.
That I was working.
The thought of it should make me happy. If it was there before, I can always get it back again, right? But instead, my indifference grows, like the night sky that swallows up the sun during twilight. Everything feels white – pure, raw and unapologetically nothing.
The concept of happiness is so far away, it’s starting to feel like God. I don’t know if it’s there, I don’t know if it can hear me and I don’t know if it knows that I want it in my life.
Without it, I am not misguided. I know where I’m going, I know what to do. I can’t help but wonder, though, how different my life would be if I had it.
Of course, a lot of this comes from me focusing on what I don’t have. This is me treating happiness like a scientific method.
- Question: How do I become happy?
- Data: things that I want; things that I have
- Hypothesis: Make the things I want into the things I have to achieve maximum happiness
- Conclusion: [currently unresolved]
Of course I know this is extremely flawed and that it’s not going to work, nor is it that easy. As if filling in the gap between happiness and me with the things that I want would help me close it. Ridiculous. It would just consume the space but they’d still be in the way.
The world is coming alive again. I hear cars rushing by and the footsteps of people going where they need to be. The yellow sky is turning orange and then gradually a purple night. A gray hue taints the fading afternoon and I feel my eyes start to close with it. The weariness sets in and I drift off to sleep, comforted by the fact that “nothing” does not exist in my dreams.