I feel so empty. I am not in despair, which is an emotion I am intimately familiar with by this point. I'm not angry, or upset. There is just nothing inside me. I'm the shell of a person. I wander through life without any passion or desires or goals or hopes or dreams. Well, not really, anyway. Sure, there are some things I would like to be but never will. I cannot bring myself to genuinely believe I will ever be anything more than this... This... Gray blah.


I want to go home. I think that to myself when I am sitting in my bedroom. I don't know where home is or what I want it to look like or who I wish was there with me. I feel like a stranger in my own body. A lost soul wandering this endless mindscape who is capable but seeing the images my eyes project onto the screen of my brain but not capable of interacting with this world I find myself trapped in. Like watching a movie, for instance. You can clearly see it, hear it, attach yourself to it, but you are fundamentally not a part of this world.


The world wouldn't miss me if I was gone. My family would find a way to move on. The few friends I have, well, I'm pretty sure they secretly think I'm annoying. I'm never going to find a place I feel I belong. It's not that I want to die. I just want life to provide some level of satisfaction. 


I want to be able to feel the breeze on my face and have to lick my lips because the strong gusts have dried them out. I want to be running around with someone, both of us laughing, and then I fall and scrape my knee. I want to be mindlessly perusing a bookstore and suddenly see the sequel to a book I love and feel a wave of excitement crash over me as I snatch it off the shelf, the smell of the pages greeting me like an old friend. I want to get stung by a bee. I want to fall on my butt when I try to run across an icy driveway. I want to be preparing a nice meal for a loved one and as I am grinding pepper over it for seasoning, I break into a sneezing fit.


I don't think I can ever do any of this. Not while I am tripped in this prison cell I have built around myself. Not when things that would have made me laugh so hard before that milk would have run out of my nose, now barely invoke a teeny tiny grin. Not when observing the peril my life has fallen into doesn't make me devastated, furious, or desperate- it only makes me sigh.


I'm just a sad, pathetic, empty little man. One grain of sand on the coast of the world. Inconsequential. No one would care if I was gone. I wouldn't care if I was gone. In fact, we would all be better off without me. I would be out of the way, no longer wasting time, money and other resources. This sentiment has been the only feeling I've had consistently for many years now. I want it to be over. I want to finally be at peace. 