The path less travelled

Do you remember when you first realised you were 'different' from other people?

Still searching...

"Is the shrink in?"

Midnight. It was time for bed, but I picked up the phone and called him anyway - to listen to a troubled heart. Not so much to comfort him. Heh. Though I'd like to think that he did feel a little better after that. I called because I needed to hear a voice, and to find in his words, some for myself too - to fill the emptiness in me that had no words.

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"Because when that day is here, when I no longer write for myself, I shall stop writing. Or I will surely kill the dreamer inside of me."
~ 19 January 2004.

Sometime during The Revenge of the Dim Sum Dollies, laughing my cares away and soaking up the happy vibes all around me, I realised that I've not been able to write because I've forgotten how to write for myself - to give myself over to the words. My notebook and computer are littered with half-written thoughts that I can't seem to complete - not with the ease that I used to have.

My words don't move me anymore. Something is missing in them. Something is missing - in me.

And so I find myself reaching out - to friends, acquaintances, and even strangers - looking for a connection, shared laughter or a smile. Sometimes, just walking among people, picking up the sights and sounds of other lives around me; reaching out to fill the emptiness in me before my smiling husk collapses into it; before I forget what it felt like to be among the living; before I lose myself so completely that I fade into nothingness.

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Is it just my hypersensitised state or do you get the feeling that a lot of people around you are also going through some kind of existential crisis?

Lost and...

"I have lost my gift. It is as if my quill is broken. As if the organ of my imagination is dried up."
~ Will Shakespeare, Shakespeare in Love

That pretty much sums it up. And nicely so.