I almost think it is God’s grace that brings this to me. You…when I least expect it. You…when I least deserve it. You…when I’ve so little to offer. And the contradiction is that you don’t care about those things…but I do. I will create a continuum of the very things I desperately want to eliminate because of those things. I am only love but I cannot give that to you. I am only honesty and I can’t offer you that fully. I am only empty and I cannot give you what it is I do not have….no matter how much I wish to have it. I beg of you patience, but I can make you no promise of what that might bring. I only have theories and hope, concepts and dreams. Memories of what I once was, what I once held inside to offer another.
I am raw and empty. I no longer make promises, when there is nothing.
Huge sense of nothing. Can’t taste food. Don’t want sex. Movies don’t interest me. Hanging out with friends holds no appeal. Don’t want to drink. Don’t want to cook or clean. Writing (even this!) seems a chore. Sleep doesn’t interest me. It’s a big fat nothing. A vast empty black hole of emotionless space with a few thoughts running around in it. It’s just nothing. Life is a mime act of going through the motions and pretending there’s something there behind it all, when in fact, it’s just an empty space of nothing. If I feel an occasional sense of pain, then at least I know I’m not completely dead, just partially so. How can that be? That’s not possible.
I do not understand anything when there is nothing. I do not understand feeling nothing.