ApathyA Story by Leslie
I am alive but I am not living.
I crave constant reminders that this person I see is. That I am. Each morning I wake up, I convince myself to wind the motor that drives my empty, practiced motions. I do this not for myself, but for them. For those who know me, for those who feel the dull of summer pulling me into apathy. I fear what will happen when I leave this house. When the expectations that now motivate me are lifted, where will I be? Happy? I'd like to think so. Self fulfillment does not fulfill me. I crave the attention of others. Those who freely give appreciation when none is returned. And when they sense it, my loss of reality, I am their lost cause. Abandoned, I grasp for attention in ways that now frighten me. But in the moment, in the need, it seems the only way. Tragedy. I welcome tragedy, I seek it. Contemplating my future, I felt the warmth of a hundred hapinesses suddenly replaced by the pain of a hundred losses. These spears of piercing emotion fell like rain on my face. Harmless. Refreshing, even. I thought of a child, unborn, taken by the hand of God. Grieving faces surrounded me, ignored. I have eyes only for the arms, outstretched, comforting me. Yet I am sane. I must be. My confidence in this fact is the only thing that keeps me sane. To myself at least. To myself at most. But now, writing, reflecting on my thoughts, the possibility of my insanity drives me closer to the edge. © 2011 LeslieAuthor's Note
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1 Review Added on July 14, 2010 Last Updated on February 24, 2011 |