A neverending echo

Some days just wear you out, force you to expend most (if not all) of your reserves to make it through in a proper fashion. Those days owe me bad. The least I'd expect was some kind of post-performance pat on the back, a tip of the hat or somesuch.

And it just doesn't.

The worst part is, I'm not even that bitter, just feeling this odd, detatched resignation.

Like the need to be in a room with no lights, and just sit there and say nothing. No tears, no sadness, just lying down, looking into the ceiling, and collapse.

I don't do much in wearing masks anymore; I have done a lot in the past, and just like everyone else, I still do on occasion, but this is one of those moments where even keeping a straight face means an effort that just seems insurmountable.

The irony of me writing about not having the energy to do anything isn't lost on me, don't worry. I just feel slightly like my fingers are moving without me really thinking about it, so assuming I just keep writing, I wonder what will come from it. Probably nothing entirely too impressive.

My only worry is, I know this feeling. It's one of the first things that tend to happen, before I start feeling really distant.

I don't know if others feel it the same way, but for me, when things for one reason or another become a bit too much, I start getting distant. Depending on what the cause is, and how quickly I catch it, it'll either pass with a night's sleep, or it'll deteriorate to a point where I spend days feeling like I'm constantly a bit behind myself. Looking at life over my own shoulder, a bit like a third person perspective game. Same detachment as when you just sit down to play a game you've completed time and time again, it's some form of defense mechanism to not get too involved for me.

What I don't like at all about that situation is, if I don't correct it it'll just turn into me not wanting to be here at all. Not as in "I want to die", but as in "I don't want to be here, and be me, just now".

It feels oddly...empty. Like I've let go of something inside me, but instead of feeling relieved, I just feel like something's missing, that's supposed to be there. Like there's too much space inside.

It's entirely possible to cry without feeling anything. The body reacts to something that it can't identify, and tries to cope. It happens every now and then to me. It's rare, true, but having tears coming down your face without a shred of emotion is one of those moments that feels so unreal.

I keep thinking of the past. It's a bit like watching a series of pictures from times long ago. I guess I miss them, but I don't really feel anything at all.

Right now, I just don't want to be here, and to be me.
Just for a little while.

I've now written and deleted the same paragraph four times, because it keeps sounding like some desperate cry for help, or some morbid "I'm passing onto the next plane" kind of thing. I can't seem to get the words just right, but as it is, I feel the way I guess I'd feel if I was sitting back and waiting to move on. I have absolutely no intention of neither dying, nor any wish for it, it's just that feeling like you're waiting for something that simply doesn't exist in this form of reality.
It's going to be a long wait. But then again, it's going to be a long night, too.

And it looks like I've got nothing but time.