Have you ever been putting up laundry, smelling the faint scent of artificial flowers from the detergent, and suddenly stopped? Just sat down on your bed, dresser drawers still ajar, hamper—half full—on your floor, and looked at the window? Looked out your window and watched the birds fly off the tree because your reflection repulses them, as the squirrels scurry down your lawn because they don’t need anything from you, as the clouds kept moving because you are so insignificant?
Congratulations. Perhaps you do not know this, but you know what it is like to not feel.
That isn’t common.
It’s passed sad. It’s passed depression. It’s passed the point of wanting to die because you just don’t care anymore about how you look or how you act or talk or smile or dress or think or observe or even how you do nothing. Because you aren’t good at it; at anything.
There are hidden signs of The Numbness in what you do:
That’s me; numb.
© Copyright 2016 Megan B. All rights reserved.
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