I so very often have more questions than answers these days. I find myself in such precarious disenchantment rather than in sincere moments of joy, which I imprudently contemplated would marvelously surface once I shed light on the truth. The veil I wore and disintegrated has now evolved into something hideous. When I hid behind that prevaricator of a shroud, at least I always had a role to perform. I knew what I was supposed to be for the most part and rescinding it down piece-by-piece has left me in hell’s nirvana, fighting to stay clear of the conflagration. At least with the camouflage I once carried, I could feel something, even if it was second hand emotions. With practice, mimicking natural reactions and emotions becomes who you are, but the affection is never there. With my security blanket removed, I am running through a mind field with no destination in mind. Maybe my former self was incredibly preoccupied with the multiple roles that I was responsible for pulling off and I was unaware of the darkness growing within or was it there from my beginning. No longer portraying whom everyone wants to see, I sit amongst a crowd with a solemn mien and slouched gait where the reticence savagely eats away at my mind. Silently wishing to be in solitude, yet my soul thrives on togetherness. I do not have anything to give and I wish to offer nothing. There is no peacock charades in my previous endeavors, the complete explanation is beyond even my own recognition. Now that I am beginning to see how things truly are, the madness boiling over within is quite timorous to acknowledge without the heavy armor I once used to shield myself. Starting over is harder than I ever could have imagined it to be, especially when the people I have hidden the truth from are still in the dark.
Oblivious to what is actually going on, my mind probes for answers. I most certainly am not depressed or manic; therefore, the thoughts and emotions I am feeling are real, as shallow as they may be. Without the use of my acting skills, theoretically I should really feel things now. Yet I am not feeling anything outside of my own personal emotions, and I find myself in avoidance of others or back to my deception games. I have always lacked the ability to empathize and support others when needed; therefore, I just went through the usual human motions when it was irrefutably necessary. That closeness sends me to an uncomfortable and unfamiliar place where I would rather claw my eyes out than to console someone with compassion. I am pretty much numb to the outside world, so looking to me for solace is like asking your mailman to perform open-heart surgery… nearly impossible. With that said, does that make me a narcissist? Have all the years of portraying someone that I am not, led to that part of my give a damn to combust? Could there be something more complex that I am missing? I bleed and hurt just like everyone else, so how inhumane am I? Is there nothing left inside me or was it missing from the beginning? My compassion paucity has made even the relationships with my family strained and taut, to the point that I avoid them for the elephant I conjure up in the room. I feel like I have auctioned my soul off to the highest bidder, someone whom does not care at all, but when did this occur. I have a handful of benevolence, so where did my affection and empathy run and hide?
Oh how I wish it were merely the uncaring that I drew the short straw on; I often wonder if I even have the capacity to love at all. It may be that I do not know what love is exactly or that my heart had a birth defect unnoticeable by human eyes. What I once thought was love, has come to my immediate attention. I quite possibly never loved that certain someone, but I loved how he made me feel and the security I had in him. Once again, I feel we are back to the vanity of my situation. Love, feelings, personal emotions… it all seems so arcane to me. I love my dog, which ironically I treat like my human offspring. How can I know I love my dog and not a human and if I do love my dog, how is it that I do not love others. As full of loathing and animosity as that sounds, what I am about to admit might possibly stir up some odious reactions. Can you imagine having to live with the lies you tell your friends and family everyday down to the very core of your relationships. Telling someone, you love them, yet you honestly do not feel the love you speak of and having to set your autopilot-rehearsed speech for those moments it has to be expressed. Knowing deep down if that person or persons knew the truth behind your programmed lips; things would turn to an antipathy tea party to your own bereavement. Therefore, I try to keep my modicum debonair interpersonal impressions with those I cannot afford to lose. Honestly, I would prefer to have those feelings and emotions that I am supposed to feel, than being the callousness that I am realizing I am. Nonetheless, no matter how hard I try to allow myself to be vulnerable so that I may feel something, there is never anything there to sacrifice and I end up handing out empty messages. Frankly, I want to know why I have this modus operandi, only then can I initiate the reconstruction that is necessitous to remedy whatever it is that is damaged in me. At this moment my apex is nowhere in sight. I feel like I am lacking the moral consummation of my soul purpose and my relevance. Are some people meant to be the wolf in sheep’s clothing?
Oblivious to what is actually going on, my mind probes for answers. I most certainly am not depressed or manic; therefore, the thoughts and emotions I am feeling are real, as shallow as they may be. Without the use of my acting skills, theoretically I should really feel things now. Yet I am not feeling anything outside of my own personal emotions, and I find myself in avoidance of others or back to my deception games. I have always lacked the ability to empathize and support others when needed; therefore, I just went through the usual human motions when it was irrefutably necessary. That closeness sends me to an uncomfortable and unfamiliar place where I would rather claw my eyes out than to console someone with compassion. I am pretty much numb to the outside world, so looking to me for solace is like asking your mailman to perform open-heart surgery… nearly impossible. With that said, does that make me a narcissist? Have all the years of portraying someone that I am not, led to that part of my give a damn to combust? Could there be something more complex that I am missing? I bleed and hurt just like everyone else, so how inhumane am I? Is there nothing left inside me or was it missing from the beginning? My compassion paucity has made even the relationships with my family strained and taut, to the point that I avoid them for the elephant I conjure up in the room. I feel like I have auctioned my soul off to the highest bidder, someone whom does not care at all, but when did this occur. I have a handful of benevolence, so where did my affection and empathy run and hide?
Oh how I wish it were merely the uncaring that I drew the short straw on; I often wonder if I even have the capacity to love at all. It may be that I do not know what love is exactly or that my heart had a birth defect unnoticeable by human eyes. What I once thought was love, has come to my immediate attention. I quite possibly never loved that certain someone, but I loved how he made me feel and the security I had in him. Once again, I feel we are back to the vanity of my situation. Love, feelings, personal emotions… it all seems so arcane to me. I love my dog, which ironically I treat like my human offspring. How can I know I love my dog and not a human and if I do love my dog, how is it that I do not love others. As full of loathing and animosity as that sounds, what I am about to admit might possibly stir up some odious reactions. Can you imagine having to live with the lies you tell your friends and family everyday down to the very core of your relationships. Telling someone, you love them, yet you honestly do not feel the love you speak of and having to set your autopilot-rehearsed speech for those moments it has to be expressed. Knowing deep down if that person or persons knew the truth behind your programmed lips; things would turn to an antipathy tea party to your own bereavement. Therefore, I try to keep my modicum debonair interpersonal impressions with those I cannot afford to lose. Honestly, I would prefer to have those feelings and emotions that I am supposed to feel, than being the callousness that I am realizing I am. Nonetheless, no matter how hard I try to allow myself to be vulnerable so that I may feel something, there is never anything there to sacrifice and I end up handing out empty messages. Frankly, I want to know why I have this modus operandi, only then can I initiate the reconstruction that is necessitous to remedy whatever it is that is damaged in me. At this moment my apex is nowhere in sight. I feel like I am lacking the moral consummation of my soul purpose and my relevance. Are some people meant to be the wolf in sheep’s clothing?
Chasity
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