I am dying. I am closer to the end with every passing day. A million cells die inside me everyday and fewer and fewer regenerate everytime. But that doesnt worry me much. I have seen death from close quarters. Old people and young. People I thought I couldn't live without. People I hardly knew. People who mattered and people who didn't. In many ways I have seen it all.
But what I fear is that something in me has died already. My ability to feel happiness. My ability to be content with myself. My ability to find that inner peace that has been my guiding force all my life through personal hell at various crossroads of life. Through displaced childhood, fractured youth, misunderstood desires, serial dissappointments and unfullfilled expectations. All I have had is myself to hold on to. That calmness inside, I believed nothing could touch or destroy. But suddenly, after all this time, there is a void. A vast emptiness that is all new and radically unpleasant. A cessation of feelings. An emotional blackhole. It is sucking away the vestiges of my innards. Every emotion I have known seems to be collapsing inwards into this terrible endless recess. Is this therefore the end of me?