That one feeling

Be it love lost, falling out with a friend, a business plan gone awry, or destruction of a priceless memento, I always get a most curious feeling when things don’t go as planned; A feeling that comes when I feel that something has been broken; perhaps beyond the point of repair; A feeling that bubbles, oily, to the surface of my psyche, only to drag me down, into its void.

It is a deep emptiness; a feverish turmoil that grips my mind. I pace, I shuffle, I drag my feet for minutes on end. I wonder where I went wrong; what I could have done better; how it is too late to change things. But as suddely as the feverish storm grips me, I am calmed. I am calm because, in the midst of my chaos, I perversely find tranquillity. I discover the eye of the storm, and there I find peace.

Like numbing poison, this feeling corrodes me, yet I do not feel its sting. A part of me is dying. I know this, but I do not care. I care for nothing. I am in a deep valley, with no shepherd. But there, at the lowest point of my consciousness, am I at my best. Because nothing else matters, I can set myself to task.

Blurred words on manuscript become razor sharp. Jumbled syntax is laid straight before my eyes; I can read. Distractions fade into misty grey; all I see is white parchment before my eyes; I can focus; I can write. Emotions in disarray; letting down their defences; I can push them aside, and pay full heed to carnal intent. I am a machine, more efficient than I have ever been.

But this state of mind is far from perfect - in truth, it is fatally flawed. For while my intrinsic motivations find themselves fortified, a part of the extrinsic world is lost on me. I cannot listen. I hear spoken words, but their meanings die upon my ears. I can read text, but English script is Spanish to my unhinged mind. I am a machine, and while I process input, I will never truly understand it. I will be cold; I will be detached; I will speak my mind, no matter how callous my thoughts. I will be mechanically efficient - but only for so long.

As with most emotions, this sentiment wanes. While traces of prior linger, and occasionally gnaw at my soul, they are soon overshadowed. Other feelings soon regroup, barricading my path to dispassionate efficiency. Phantoms of distraction materialize, restricting my cognitive advance. Work still needs to be done. I pace, I shuffle, I drag my feet – but this time, there is no subsequent path to tranquillity; no quick fix for my pending workload. Only mental exertions will help my cause - but I don’t mind. The mental load is lifted, and, even at the cost of my godly work rate, it’s great to have my feelings back.

The sinking feeling in my gut disappears, allowing me to fill it with food, laughter, friends, and the occasional bouts of euphoria they bring. More importantly, I can hear again; I can let the outside world in, and fully experience life. But that sinking feeling is a drug; and when it leaves, a part of me wants it back. A part of me wants to be free of distractions, to operate without a care in the world; to get jobs done and to get them done quickly. To speak my mind without concern for what anyone else thinks. That feeling will come again, but I will not search for it. When it comes, it comes, and I will use it to further my cause. I will learn from it and change, so that hopefully, one day, the feeling will be no more.