What is this place?
Where am I?
Normally I write into the vast technological void of my computer writing files. My words flow in, are registered, sorted, and mostly never see the light of day. They remain unread. But if I do not share something I feel I may explode. Existential angst, perhaps? I am sinking into this strange void. A vacant space within myself that is quickly replicating outside of myself. I wish I could say I was afraid of this void, but I seem to be embracing it with little more than calm indifference. While the outside world rushes on with art, friendship, study, YouTube triviality, insomnia related complaints, I am frozen in this twilight zone.
There is nothing more to say. There is nothing within me that can be expressed. I do little in a day before the need for sleep overcomes me. I am thoroughly disinterested in any form of conversation or learning. I want nothing, but I cannot embrace nothingness with a calm or dignity that would become me.
At this time I have reoccurring thoughts of my grandma, in the final stages of her illness with secondary breast cancer. I remember how, even upon her deathbed, she never uttered a word of complaint. She embraced her sickness with positivity and good will. She lived out her last days bringing only joy to others. She died with a smile.
I feel she is a good role model to me. But I am struggling to find a reason. To see only the good in badness, to feel only joy in sadness, will this ultimately mean something? Or is denying even your own pain a final outcome of nothingness?
I am here. But for how long, I do not know.
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