‘We sail within a vast sphere, ever drifting in uncertainty, driven from end to end…’ – Blaise Pascal

I’ve been crippled by an odd sense of detachment lately. Actually, I don’t know if I can call it an entirely new sentiment, but this feeling of being seemingly adrift has become unsettling. It’s got me wondering how truly isolated we really are, each of us, in little bubbles of self perception, nobody else sees the world as we see it, our perspective is as unique as the DNA we possess.

Nothing settles, nothing makes a lasting imprint, moments come and then…they pass, and we move onto the next and then the next….in the vain hope that something sticks, something imprints…something is remembered and makes a lasting impact. Moving through the world in an isolated circle is tiring, we go through the motions…the same actions…reactions….actions…reactions…time and time again…each of us in worlds of our own making, brushing pass each other, close…but no connection, no intersection…no overlap.

I’m tired of the endless disconnect and I hate that we’ve become so isolated, stuck in our tiny, impervious little bubbles circling others warily, caged…on edge…scared of making a connection (Note my use of the word ‘we’, I refuse to believe I’m the only crazy one). Scared of letting someone in, letting anyone in, scared of letting someone see the neurotic, crippled, broken side of us lest we scare them away.

But scared, afraid…terrified…because there’s no guarantee, all there is is this…this moving through the world…seeking a connection…but being rejected. And so we drift onwards, motion to motion, feeling…not feeling…wall to wall…closing in on our selves, the bubble shrinking, the world becoming scarier…smaller.

I hate feeling like this…woe is me, meanwhile there are people with real problems, tangible, earth shattering problems in the world. Of course that’s true, and I wish…wish with every fibre of my being that I could force myself to feel better, but it seems no matter what I do I return to this point of emptiness.


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