I have this feeling that it will be okay but never in the present, never right now. The hope of it will be all okay is the only feeling to live with.
I have this feeling of happiness, of liking the songs that play on shuffle, of enjoying the sea, and looking at the beautiful people around me. Of everything everyone has been through to be here now, and to be by ourselves. Not okay, not content, just to be.
I have this feeling of hate, of hating those who pushed my friends too far, who picked up a fight with me and I didn’t want to but I did. I fought and pushed and punched and yet didn’t utter a screaming word.
I have this feeling of life flashing in front of me in a seat at the back of the bus travelling at 11 pm in the night, this feeling of life flashing in front of me in a seat in the middle of the bus travelling at 3 pm in the afternoon, this feeling of life flashing in front of me in the left side seat of an Uber travelling back home at 1 am in the night, this feeling of life flashing in front of me again and again and again and it’s the feeling of dying.
I’m not physically dying in any of these situations and when the feeling comes, I’m calm, I’m present, I let it go through me. I have this feeling of being able to do nothing about anything, of being a watcher, an audience to my own life.
Probably this is what a symptom of dissociation and derealization looks like and why would I care, why would anyone, this doesn’t hurt at all, not even a bit.
I have this feeling of crying—of almost crying when reading a book, when working, when cooking, when walking and writing. This feeling which fills the entire eyes and cries to be out and on a few fine days, it does.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
The feeling to feel good, to feel sad, to feel angry, to feel excited, nervous, hopeful, lost, the feeling of missing something—someone. I have these feelings as long as I live and I live for this: to feel.
First published on 7 March 2024