Looking at myself in the mirror in the morning, whether it be on a school day, for a day with friends or for a day alone, it’s hard to describe my emotions. When therapists ask me how I rate my happiness out of ten, I only can explain I don’t feel anything. Much like how I look into the mirror, I don’t see anything to be of use.
Indifference has it’s own reasons for being prominent due to personal happenstance. Otherwise, all I can say is that at any given moment, I don’t know what I’m supposed to say, or what to think, about what I’m feeling. That is not to say I can kill at will without remorse (maybe), but it affects how I perceive what I take of what’s around and in me.
Alas, there is one thing where I can know I experience something other than numbness – in my deepest desires for love elicits confusion. I’ve been made aware that as a teenager, romance and sex has an exaggerated sense of importance due to a still-developing emotional maturity. However, I’m not saying that I value romance over anything else; I’m just perplexed by the role non-platonic partnerships have in my illusion of life.
In the rare case someone else fancies my flaws, I am enlightened but then like a slanted lightbulb on a ceiling, I am confronted by my own reactions. Do I love them back? Do I reject them? When it all blows over, can we still be friends? Will this even matter?
Inside of me though, I know I am completely loyal to this idea of me and this other person hugging each other under a tree, mocking and yet obeying romantic cliches.
But do they feel like that’s what we’d have? Do they think of me in wild abandon or in considerable tastes? What do they see in this glass vase that is my fantastical design?
Nevertheless, let’s see the sparks fly. Will the wall around me (if it exists) break down or will I have allowed myself to singe my pinkie finger (if it exists)?