I don’t feel feelings. I feel a dull lull to things. Where there should be anger, happiness, sadness, anxiety, excitement, I feel a void whose existence is a constant reminder of my unfeeling nature.
A feeling in my definition, is something that burns in you, that you can feel climbing up hot through your throat, which you feel, powerful, through each breath and word.
Everything else seems false, like there is just emptiness where something you feel should be, so you pretend you aren’t empty and are the same as everyone else.
Like when you tell someone something, and they say they don’t’t want to listen to what you have to say, it’s rude. And you think you should feel indignant and angry, so you act it. Pretend to be hurt. Make sure they know that you’ve been hurt by what they did.
They come back, apologise. Say that they want to listen, afterall. You don’t feel that telling them now will hurt your pride, but you don’t tell them anyway. Because it should.
Sometimes, I forget that I’m pretending, sometimes when someone does something, I think I really am angry or happy or sad or anxious or excited. But then it’s gone suddenly, leaving nothing in its wake, and I realise myself to be foolish to think that I felt something. Because it does not have some leftover waves of what I had felt. Because real feelings are supposed to persist and leave an aftertaste.
I breathe in, and I breathe out and still don’t feel anything. With every breath I realise that it’s futile. I do not feel human. What I do feel like though, is a broken piece of something that was supposed to be human, but was not made fully. Maybe something got left behind, or maybe there was a crack in the drying mud that made my heart.