You have not decided to isolate yourself from the outside world. You have just become an isolated form in your own inner world.
It just kind of happened.
The strings or shackles have been cut. You just don’t care anymore about responsible things that need to be taken care of in the world. What happens will happen. You just don’t care.
You have withdrawn or melted into a very isolated and solitary space. You are not sure if this is space is in the world or in your head. Maybe it’s both- like a room within a room.
You don’t really know if this space is real or daydream. It is probably all daydream you suspect but you can’t wake up out of it.
You are just barely getting by.
You feel like you have been beaten down or beaten up by the outside world. Your tank is on empty. You feel drained of all vital energy. It’s as if you were inside the high spin cycle of a claustrophobic washing machine for the past several days. You have just gotten out.
Now you have cut all the strings. You have retreated like a wounded animal into its hole.
You are tired, too drained of vital energy to do much of anything. Even masturbation feels like no fun.
This is not what good feels like even though you say to no one that you are fine.
Continually on the edge of wanting to cry.
Dogs bark. Cars go by. Shadows move. Leaf blowers make ugly mechanical sounds in the distance. You know there is an engaged and active world out there but you are no longer a part of it. You are on the other side now. The side which is totally removed.
A someplace state in between waking and being sound asleep.
You feel alone with what your life has become and have no idea how to make it something you feel happy to share with others. You look for self-help and necessary consolation in the creative works of others. Sometimes you are so grateful to find it there.
Every week it is the same ascent and descent. Again and again. The struggle. The spin cycle. The ass kicking and then the immense, solitary drain. Is there any escape?
All life gradually goes flat inside you. Not even the sunshine helps much anymore.
But why not be happier? Why not just stop the grieving? Stop the wallowing in all the negative thought about what your life has become? Can’t you just accept that this is the way your life is now? That you will never be that?
You take your daily vitamins and pretend like you are taking a handful of sleeping pills. The bright white paint on the surrounding walls feels institutional.
When you hear yourself saying “I love you too,” you feel nothing. You want to mean it so much but you can’t find meaning anywhere at all.
You know you have things to do but you do not care. You are somewhere in the world but no longer of it. You want to create your own, more desirable inner world. You want to listen to strange sounds. You want to become idle while watching the day go by. You want to read even though you don’t really absorb the words. You want to have a drink but you know it is much too early.
You try though. You try to fill the empty space with meaning. You try to fill your hole with the things you like to do. To recreate the more authentic and desirable life you feel disdainfully ripped out of most days of the week.
There are no new emails in your inbox. No new text messages on your phone. No one is thinking about what you are currently going through. No one cares about anything you write.
There is present pain that no one can see. You walk around in a daze. You do not care that your body is not clean and your hair is a mess. Outside of the dull existential pain and the heavy lethargy you can’t feel anything at all. It is a heavily muted state. At least the anger and anxiety is gone now, you think.
Maybe you are really sick. In the body or head?
You will put headphones on, listen to beautifully strange, ambient music that induces a kind of liminal state as you walk around the park. I’m this isolated and detached from the world all around, you will think. But you know you now prefer it this way because it is the way it often is.
You look in the refrigerator, again and again, but keep finding the same nothing there.
You talk to no one. Words don’t want to come out. You are surprised to notice that you are not even thinking that much. It is as if everything has been droned out.
You want to be productive but can’t. Nothing is now happening.
Effort has to be made just to exist. Just to get from here to there. There to here. You want to clean things but you can’t find the point. Anyways, there is no energy to bend over and pick things up.
Exhausted and alone. Like what it may feel like on the inside of a dead egg.
You slowly move around like a hypnagogic patient convalescing in hospital after a traumatic event has taken place. You are like the broken and depressed dried leaves you notice all over the ground. The barking dog in the distance. The fly frantically circling above your head.
Maybe it is now all over for you. You know that the world is really busy out there. Rush hour traffic is soon to begin. All kinds of things are going on but you no longer know how to happily participate in any of it outside of being drunk.
You hear passing sirens and are briefly reminded of the thing you always fear.
It is hard to imagine tolerating this much more.
When you stand up to swat the fly you realize you were just in some kind of dreary, high-pitched sound in the ears, altered state.
Maybe you should put the sharp scissors away?