Last Fall I wrote this entry. I quote part of it here:
Shock, sadness, relief, anger, disappointment, curiosity, blame, determination, grief, fear, speculation, impatience, regret, doubt, depression, wonder, pessimism, optimism, nervousness, callousness, understanding, drama, accusation, resignation...
I could go on and on. At night, instead of allowing me to sleep, my mind takes these and countless other thoughts and creates elaborate storylines that branch madly, twisting and weaving, joining and separating, spreading and collapsing. None ever finish. None ever get wrapped up in the end. I resolve nothing then finally I sleep out of sheer exhaustion.
Something similar, yet still very different, has been happening since Monday.
My mind is trying desperately to find something to latch onto. Something to think about. Something to care about. Something to occupy it and pull it from this void.
A million times a minute, it seems, I'll pick up a thought, then dismiss it as irrelevant. Discard it as bullshit.
For so long I tried so hard to get my mind to shut down for just a little while and give me some peace and quiet. Now it's too damn quiet and it's driving me crazy. The silence is deafening.
I think that even sadness would be a welcome diversion from this, this nothing that's enveloped me. Reminds me of another entry:
Blackness and silence surround him, seep into him.
He wonders how long it has been. A minute? A day? A million years?
Even the familiar thump thump of his heart has stopped. He ponders this, and reaches his hand to his chest, but he finds that he has no hand, and that he has no chest.
He simply exists, seeing, hearing, feeling nothing.
He waits for something to happen, and wonders if he is dead.
I know now what I didn't know back when I wrote this. Feelings will return to me someday. Probably when I least expect them and when they're least welcome.