where does it all come from? It seems to be endless, a voracious beast with an unquenchable appetite. The emptiness surrounds me, sticks to my skin like some disgusting, sticky black membrane, constantly separating me from the world, never allowing any emotions in or out.
Sometimes I feel it as a stab of desperate loneliness, and I want nothing more than to scream–but I can’t find the energy. Other times it recedes to the background as a dull throbbing, and I’ll sit in one place for hours on end. Sometimes it verges on something vaguely resembling pain, though even then it’s as if I can’t even quite grasp at it. Other times it is merely a profound apathy. Stay in bed all day. What does the world matter, what does it have to offer? Nothing, is the answer I often come to. It is neither Truth nor Lie. Just a simple fact which hovers like a dark storm cloud above my head and in my heart.