Abstract Thought


“You will never feel,” they said with monotone voices. In simple terms they’re my deciders. My healers. In complicated terms; my enemies. They speak what they know, and I’m lead into believing that it’s true. Forced. In my inward quiet gray and blue little world, they’re always right. And I’m always wrong.

I was never a normal child, inwardly at least. My fears and dreams were never known. Never spoken of. While other’s relished their desires, their loves- I despised their very presence. To feel would be human. Human and raw. Something I was never destined to be.

They say my lack of emotion, my gaze less eyes, even my empty lust for life is a sign of this condition. They refuse to point out any details, and so I’m forced – again - into blind belief. But what if they’re not lying?

My abstract thinking is conformed - piece-by-piece - into fitting their plan. My life is in their hands, for they hold the key to my medicine cabinet.

Normal is supposed to be ‘just a word’. But we all know this isn’t true. You’ll either soften your edges and fade out with society, or you’ll embrace your youthful lusts and walk your own path - alone or not - it doesn’t matter to you.

I wonder though; “What’s the point?” In the end, isn’t it all just a game of luck?


“You will never feel emotionally connected.” This is repeated over and over inside my head. “You can always pretend, no one will ever know.” They say that as if it’s somehow easy. I thought to myself – “Easy to pretend? To agonizingly gaze deep inside your eyes hoping my fear will not be noticed?”

“Yes” they said. “You can pretend.”

How easy it is to forget who you are. Then again, how easy it is to never know who you are.

They tell me there are others in my shoes, as if that’s supposed to help. As if the fact that there’s more than one, makes everything okay. Believe me, it doesn’t.

I used to wish I could explain why I sit at my window and stare into space. Why my eyes never show emotion, and my heart is stone. Why I can’t stand the thought of loving.

“We can help you.” Why do they say that with such greed in their eyes? Hoping I’ll accept my ill fate and cling to them for comfort. Tell me, kind sirs, what if I enjoy my empty nights, my midnight walks, the quiet hours, my books, my poetry, and my inspiration? Would you really tear that all away? Yes, I believe they would. Their greed will not encompass my happiness. Their lust for knowledge, for cures of this condition will not be experimented on my sanity. Whatever sanity I still contain.

“But we’ll take care of you!” Will you really? Why must your eyes flutter in different directions when you attempt even the slightest bit of honesty? Why are your hands so idly laid upwards on your lap, waiting to spring up and choke me where I stand?

“You won’t survive in society, you know that, don’t you? You’ll regret the day you pushed us out. We can make the blunted pain go away. We can give you fabricated feelings! You’ll never know the difference!” Their voices screamed like demons. Octaves so high the dead could hear.

“I trusted you once” I said. “I ate the crumbs at your feet and I kissed the jewels on your fingers, but you lost me the day you forced me into your box. The day I was made to believe in your beliefs, walk along your paths, and grip the hands that torment me.”

My fears, my dreams, my fabricated gazing’s are still drifting along beside me. Down the dark halls, through the lit tunnels, and up the mighty mountains.

But I was always a nonconformist, up to the day I bade farewell to life and learned to live - truly and completely.