Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Moments of Life, A Life of Existence, Day 161

I feel dead with bursts of feelings, moments that make me feel like I have life, as if I'm alive but not in an exhilarated sort of way. And I hate the impression that that sentence must give off because it's not that intense or bleak. That's sort of the problem. I've spent my entire life being detached, but I was never absent of feelings. I was either detached and appreciative of it because of the benefits that came from it. I didn't get hurt nearly as much as if I had invested my feelings and put a part of myself into something. Or I would experience moments of feelings, feelings I couldn't shut down, ignore, or deny. I could go days, weeks, months, even years for the most part being emotionally-dead and that one brief period of emotion lingered and haunted me like a bad habit. It made me mistakenly believe that I did have feelings, enough to be considered human, enough to lie to myself and say that I don't have a problem. I managed to co-exist in those mutually exclusive realities. If I was emotionally-dead, then I couldn't have possibly been feeling much and that's problematic. But I certainly turned the other cheek. Or I felt intensities that convinced me that I'm a functional human being, so I'm okay. Things are okay. Deep down I knew it wasn't true. But I wasn't ready to face the truth. I just believed the beautiful lie that I feel, so everything's fine refusing to accept that when I did feel, the gaps in between from the next time were dangerously distanced. Not seeing that I didn't really feel much or for that long; I just misperceived it to be.

A friend has recently asked me twice about how work is for me and I haven't provided him with much of an answer when I'm usually really open around him. I'm sure it's because he was taking an interest in my life and surprised that this is one aspect that I didn't address when I'm usually pretty expressive. I mentioned to someone else briefly that sometimes I'd get premonitions of customers phone numbers before they provide it to me. That doesn't happen anymore as I've gotten more detached. That's something I would've shared with my friend who's been asking about how work is going for me, but I didn't.

Ever since I started this job, I found myself uninspired to write and even absent of writing ideas. I can usually freestyle. Very rarely do I have writer's block. I may not be able to express some things, but there's always something else ready to burst out of me. I didn't believe I was emotionally-dead. I thought I was just detached which I am, and to an extent it's good for work. But prolonged detachment can lead to psychological consequences. However when one's detached, those signs are like subtle bubbles that you barely notice or feel swimming around you.

I'm a Customer Service Representative at a call center taking inbound calls. I don't do telemarketing or anything like that. I get calls from customers who accuse me of being wrong, who are condescending, refuse to listen to me, yell at me, and crap like that. It's beneficial and productive to be detached because what's the point in putting energy into being upset over strangers who don't deserve my emotional participation or investment? It doesn't do anyone good and it compromises the security of my job and for what? Bullshit! I've got enough of that in my life that I don't need to add to it. But as I've mentioned before, just because I'm detached doesn't mean that I'm absent of feelings.

Sometimes I can't help but be affected by it. I can't really put into words how it makes me feel, but it makes me wish that I can crawl into his arms because I just know that if he holds me I'll feel better. All I need is that warmth, that comfort that he can offer me. But reality is that I don't have his arms to go to, and sometimes *I'm scared that I never will. Am I going to always be haunted by my premonitions about how that can feel, to be so close and unimaginably far away, realities away?* That idea just kills me and saddens me as if I'm mourning the death of a relationship that never came to term before anything even blossomed until I realize how extremely irrational that is and I'm left feeling ashamed over how bleak and self-defeatist I am and creeped out by the intensity of something so undefined.

Then I become detached again until the next time these feelings strike me and I'm on repeat. When will the vicious cycle end? When will a new one begin? Will a new one even begin? Speaking of will, a friend at work made a joking comment that any other day I would've laughed at because the timing was perfect. It made the hilarity at the highest peak it could be, but he has no idea how much he sharpened the blade and gutted me. He asked how my boyfriend is. I said, "What boyfriend?" He asks maybe that's why you don't have one.

It just expanded the emptiness I feel into limitless space. I'm not looking for a boyfriend. I'm okay with being alone. It gets lonely, but I'm not complaining because I hate being single. I'm saddened because the guy I know I can have this amazing relationship with who I believe likes me is too afraid to take a chance.

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