On occasion, I find myself feeling especially antisocial. I feel utterly disinterested in conversation, in fact completely opposed to any interaction of whatever kind. Today is one of those occasions. I have an inkling of what brought it on this time, though I’m not certain. But looking back, I don’t recall sensing a reason for my need to withdraw; I just felt…I feel…an antagonism toward human beings in general. Their dramas, their hopes, their dreams…nothing about them appeals to me. The reverse may be true, I suppose. They don’t have any interest in my sudden need to withdraw from the world. The difference for me, now, is that today I don’t care. Usually, I would be offended or hurt to think people wouldn’t have empathy for this…whatever it is. But today, I really don’t care whether they have empathy for me or not. I’m not after empathy. I don’t know what I’m after. I’m not sure I’m after anything.
Well, I suppose I’m after something. I’m writing this now so that, after this passes, I will be able to read what I was thinking. Although, truth be told, I don’t think I care now, nor will I then, what I was thinking. What I was thinking is unimportant. In fact, nothing is important. That’s it in a nutshell. Nothing is important. The earth could vaporize in an instant and it wouldn’t matter. If I knew it were coming in fifteen minutes, it wouldn’t matter. I think I’d just sit and wait for it.
But, really. I am smarter than what I just said. If I didn’t care, if it didn’t matter, I wouldn’t be bothering to write this. So, someplace in the dark recesses of my mind, this dark mood matters to me.
There must be a mix of depression and anger that creates this odd sense of detachment from humankind, this unusual sense that I want nothing whatsoever to do with other people. Is it because I see them, in general, as so shallow? Is it because I hear people talk just to hear themselves talk? Is it because there’s so much ignorance in the world and so little hope of brightening it with knowledge and understanding? Maybe none of the above, maybe all. I’m having a hard time writing this because it’s not of any interest at the moment. Maybe it never is.
I wonder if changing one’s environment really has any effect on one’s mental attitude, on one’s perspective on life. Will a move to a cooler climate or an environment in which the people are more liberal and, therefore, more intelligent help? Will it matter? And would I even fit in? Would I care? Not now, no. I wouldn’t care about fitting in. I wouldn’t care about liberal environments and cool weather. Because it’s all just so tangential to who I am. Nothing in my environment will make me a different person. And nothing in me will make me a different person. I have spent almost 60 years getting to this place, wherever this place is. And maybe that’s the source of my current malaise. If it took this long to get to a generally unpleasant place, how long would it take to undo what I’ve done and become what I’ve not been? Just thinking about the hopelessness of making the trip back is enough to ruin my mood, such as it is.
At some point, I will read this and wonder how I could have felt such a sense of despondency and utter gloom. Having just re-read what I wrote, I will have to wonder, because this post certainly hasn’t enlightened me.