Any time I try to feel something - emotion - I just end up tired, or angry. It's as if I've been replaced by an empty sink on the inside. Anything that feels difficult to parse; any emotion beyond the instinctual expression of laughter, anger, or the immediacy of infatuation drains out of me and leaves me feeling exhausted.
It's difficult to express anything except by analogy. Take this: What use is a a bombed-out building, charred from the insides out but still standing? It takes time to regrow life in a crater. What could be more beautiful, more terrifying, than new life? How can you take comfort in something that you know is transient? Beauty is devastation waiting to happen.
I'm making this sound overly depressing, and I don't mean to. I am not depressed. I'm a cynic. I am...having difficulty with proactivity. With forethought. With interpretation.
Nobody really understands it when you tell them that you "can't deal with things." They assume you're exaggerating, or making excuses. Sometimes it feels as though you are. But it's not as if you can help it.
Saying you have difficulties with feelings is a statement that gets brushed off, ignored at the worst; listened-to - but not really understood (and who could possibly understand?) - at best. I can act sympathetic, empathetic even, but those words don't necessarily mean anything, don't necessarily link up with recognizable emotions. When you turn inside, all you see is the sink. Fighting monsters is dangerous work, even if you didn't pick the fight.
Perhaps, after loss, poetry is the only thing that matters.
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