It sometimes feels like I’m disappearing bit by bit. That the old me is dying one piece at a time but nothing new is growing to replace these lost parts. Ambition and drive are lost and gone forever, I fear. Nowadays I drift along largely without aim which some may argue has been true for much of my adult life; the difference now being that there is no desire or ability to find an aim or a purpose. Things happen. I let them.
Sharpness is fading and things exist in a state of blurriness, soft around the edges and out of focus. Events, feelings, plans, interactions. Everything exists behind a veil of fog. Sometimes thick, sometimes faint but always there in the middle of me and everything else.
Friendships are becoming distant and the ability to interact is long gone. I come out of any conversation replaying all the faux pas, all the errors I made – talking too loud, talking too much about myself, not talking enough, laughing in the wrong place, not laughing at all, laughing too loud. It’s true that I’ve always been a bit socially inept so I suppose it should be no surprise that this part died first but without it so many other things are difficult or impossible and its death is responsible for the continued self-enforced isolation, battling with the primal instinct to connect, interact, communicate, to be a human being.
The need to see new things, experience new ideas and new places is for now intact although it’s automatic. There is no pleasure anymore when it happens. But there is still some joy in the planning and the thought of travel and newness. Not all joy is dead. A little of me clings on.