this is the title

It’s hard to pinpoint quite what’s wrong. I think it’s something like: I miss mystery. Contemplating the world with the kind of interest I used to as a child. Now everything seems sort of predictable. Even the shocks and random outliers. Certain things are predictably stimulating/exciting. But it’s not the same.

It’s like my mind has processed all the possibilities of reality, and jammed them into neat little boxes. Whatever happens, whatever turns out to be the case, it’s just not really all that interesting anymore.

Perhaps what I’m describing is an inevitable result of adulthood – in order to try and survive the world, the brain has to limit it’s view of it. Reality becomes instrumental – ‘how can I adjust myself to these potential circumstances to get what I need.’ Or maybe it’s simply depression – no longer finding interest in life. I still find things interesting in passing – history, for example. But the interest is somehow contained/limited. A part of my mind always maintains distance, knowing that whatever the origins of a people or custom, it all amounts to essentially the same thing.

Anyway, I miss that part of myself. I feel it’s absence. There’s a gap where it should be.

Also, hugs. I miss being held. Or rather, I miss being able to feel comforted by being held. I think it stops working when you know the person holding you would be repulsed by the truth, and would reject and disown you. It stops feeling like acceptance and love, and starts feeling like a false, empty ritual. You go through the motions, but it doesn’t have the same effect. Your brain won’t let you feel that warm fuzziness, because it knows there’s no real connection there anymore. Only pretence.