Feelings are becoming alien to me, dear readers.
I feel (pardon the irony) like I have been without emotion for many, many months now. This isn’t to say I’m flat or numb, because I’m not. But can you imagine laughing and not feeling happy? Crying, and not feeling sad? Shouting, and not feeling angry?
I’ve been suffering through an extended depression since November last year, when my motivation and reason for living vanished without a trace. All progress on The Redemption of Erâth ceased; I stopped doing the dishes, I stopped washing clothes, or even myself…every day became a struggle to find a reason to get out of bed, and if I did I would spend the remainder of the day finding ways to get back into it.
…there are no connections, nothing to root me and say, “This has meaning.”
I’m not out of this depression yet – the bed still calls beckoningly – but my motivation is back (somewhat). I rose from the depths of nothing to a point where I could at least force myself to take the next step and tell my publisher to look into re-editing the manuscript for Consolation; this led to further work on Exile, on which I managed to progress five chapters in the past week and half – an unprecedented level of productivity for me. That’s 30,000 words in 10 days.
With Little Satis’ broken leg, I’ve also been forced back into household chores that I had all but abandoned, and I’m finding it…if not enjoyable, then at least tolerable. I have to do the dishes in spurts to get them done, and I still fail to do the laundry on a regular basis; my office is a disaster of strewn clothes (clean and dirty), tea mugs and coffee cups, dust, crumbs and a suitcase, half unpacked from six months ago. The chore of cleaning is beyond me.
But there is one thing that remains constant throughout all of this, whether its when loading the dishwasher, lying in bed thinking about not cleaning or writing emotional scenes in The Redemption of Erâth: I feel nothing. It’s as though I’m simply moving through existence, seeing and observing (or sometimes failing to observe) the things around me, but there are no connections, nothing to root me and say, “This has meaning.”
The funny thing is, it isn’t an entirely unpleasant way to live. When you can’t feel, there’s virtually no stress, no worry; none of the bad things in life have any real meaning. They just are. If that comes at the price of the good things in life, then…so be it.
Of course, occasionally the odd sensation will flare up momentarily. For example, the guilt that stopped me from choosing a loaf of bread when I knew Mrs. Satis was paying for the shopping (she can’t eat wheat). This little, odd fleeting feeling that buying that bread would be a ‘bad’ thing to do.
For the most part, though, there is precious little guilt and regret. Little stress, little worry, little sadness.
And little happiness, too.
What would you trade?
Featured image adapted from http://www.drdavewhite.com/2013/10/30/godly-sorrow-vs-worldly-guilt/.