The Mind Of An Apathetic Woman

Over the last few weeks, life has swung into the part of life that occurs after we find ourselves blindsided. My mum’s in the hospital. It turns out that she might have cancer but we won’t know until more tests are done. My personal life is upside down. Between school, my mum and her health, my job, and my writing — things are starting to wear thin and I’m at the point I’m having to make decisions on what I can do.

Which means I have to decide what’s best for me.

I can’t be drawn into the darkness of chaos and turmoil, even if I feel like screaming right about now. Or crying hysterically. That’d be a possibility had I been the type of person to cry when I felt the need to. But I’m not that person. I stopped being that girl when I hit puberty, which was roughly around the time many of my…quirks came to be.

Over the course of this year (ten months, now), I’ve taken an interest in my health and wellbeing; this type of healing isn’t just in a physical sense, but mentally and spiritually and emotionally. I’ve been very unhappy with myself, with who I am. I would look in the mirror and see so many problems that it makes me sick even now. And I want to change that, no matter how hard it’ll be.

Too much has gone on all at once and, at times, I feel like I have the weight of the world hanging on my shoulders. There are truths I am aware of. I’ve been aware of them all for a very long time. Some of them I have never spoken of in-depth to anyone other than my elder sister (who has been my confidant and dearies friend from the earliest years of my childhood) and it’s going to stay that way.

But one truth speaks loudly, now.

Within us all lies, dormant, the soul of a genius.

My own genius isn’t in math or science or anything like that. My power lies in written words, in the subtle and tricky art of telling stories through writing. English has always been something I can do well, something which I didn’t really have to practice or work on. I can write well (always could, from an early age), my grammar is well enough (though it, too, could use some improvement), and my inner knowledge on how writing works helps me with the delicate balance that enables me to have the potential to be a true writer.

I only need to be brave.

Much of what I go through, day in and day out, exists beneath layers of superficial happiness. The nightmares of my life, they are guarded and kept close to my heart. On the same hand, these nightmares aren’t really nightmares because they don’t scare me.

They should, but they don’t.

I don’t care one way or another if someone cares about me (other than my immediate family, all who I am honestly possessive of) because it takes too much effort. I do care when I have to go out of my comfort zone to confront anyone because it puts a great deal of stress on me, but I think everyone can relate to that. After the initial confrontation is over, I don’t care anymore. I know I should. Everything I have been taught and raised to know tells me I should care.

But I don’t.

Natural disasters don’t bother me. The horrors on TV, with all the murder and protesting and death? Doesn’t bother me one bit. That, too, is a horrid thing to admit. Social norms are clear about that. The world we live in, it has ideas about what people should be like.

Everyone who doesn’t fall into that category?

We’re the outcasts.

Now, some of you might be asking, “Why are you telling us this?”

Because I believe in transparent honesty. I’m tired of holding this back. I never could say it out loud. My thoughts and my words don’t mesh all that well. Sometimes I have a hard time saying what’s in my head. I do know, however, that this has to be said.

Why?

Because I need to be able to tell myself the truth, with complete and utter honesty. In this, I feel I must be honest. This here, this ‘The Mind Of An Apathetic Woman,’ is more for my sake than yours. I’m just letting all of you in on it because I don’t see why I shouldn’t. The point of all of this is what the title suggests.

It’s about me. Few know I have a tendency to fake a smile or interest in what’s going on. I often find it difficult to find myself intrigued or interested about what’s going on around me.  I’m what some might classify as mildly apathetic. I’m an observer, I’m reserved.

I’m not the talker, the girl who’s in the spotlight in a gathering. I’m impartial even when I’m not all that interested in what someone has to say. Apathetic, such an unusual case. It is something I understand because the sensation of being disconnected from the world around me, from the people in it, has been with me for many years. Always there, weak at some points and overwhelming at others. Mild apathy. Mild depression, other’s say.

Some of you might already know what this means. For those of you who don’t?

Here you go:

Apathy is a lack of feeling, emotion, interest, and/or concern. 

Apathy is a continued state of indifference and/or suppression of emotions such as concern, excitement, motivcation, and/or passion.

– Wikipedia

That isn’t the most lovely thing to read, now is it?

There is a difference between the above and someone who is going through a phase. At times in our lives, we all go through a phase when we’d rather not be bothered with all the other people and events happening around us. At times, each and every person in this world goes through a time in their life where they want something…but just don’t really feel like doing anything about it.

Apathy is a difficult thing to describe, really. It’s not feeling, really. Or, in my case, not fully feeling all that goes on around me. Describing this numbness is like trying to tell someone what it feels like to be in love when you’ve never been in love. Apathy is one of those states where you have to experience it to understand it, to really understand.

This state of existence has several different sources: depression, mental disorders, poor diet, malfunctioning thyroids, lack of proper sleep, and many other things. There are others who say apathy is caused by a lack of faith in oneself or in a lack of faith that there will be warmth and happiness and success for the individual in question. They stop trying because they believe nothing will ever come of their hard work.

Then there are the cases where apathy simple exists without reason.

Those who are like me, where indifference is a part of our very presence, well fall into the last category. We are ambitious, driven but we just don’t give a shit about anything else. From what I’ve experienced, those who are tormented with apathy often aren’t aware that they live their lives in a state of indifference, only that they are often called ‘insensitive, cold, judgemental assholes’ more times than they can count.

We’re normal-ish, though. We have our moments. We find humor in the world around us (often morbid in nature), we laugh, we love and we strive for what we want. Yet, at the same time, we’re just…emotionally cut off from some of the emotions others take for granted. Some of us simply cannot understand why people do the things they do. Or, if we know why, we don’t understand they’d do it anyway.

Which brings me to Point B:

The Greek word pathos describes a type of emtional suffering afflicting people who are overly sensitive to their enviroment.

Pathos is the root word of apatheic, but the prefix ‘a’ turns it into the opposite:

Therefore, in this case, one could say that apathy is a state of suffering that afflicts people who aren’t connected to their enviroment and causes emtional boredorm, insensitivity, and a lack of enthusiam.

– Vocabulary

With that said, I can jump to Part II:

I don’t like people poking at the dark corners of my mind because I understand what’s going on in those dark places. I’ve been told I’m cold, that I’m insensitive, that I’m rude, that I’m mean; the truth is, none of that’s intentional (if it was, we’d both know it). My general disposition tends to “warm others of oncoming danger.” 

I am unable to put myself in another’s shoes. I lack empathy.

Yet this is who I am. This is what I am.

Once, there was a time when I thought, “There’s something wrong with me.”

When I hear that voice, once every blue moon, I have a habit of feeling a sense of dark amusement. Something inside of me stirs awake and I know that, maybe, there is, indeed, “something wrong.” I’m fine with that. Again, perhaps I shouldn’t be, but I still am.

I’ve come to an agreement with the inner monster that lives in my head.

When we fight, I like to say, “Mind your own damned business and have a nice day.”

After that, I’m generally caught in La La Land.

That’s where a lot of my ideas come from, actually. That dark corner in my head that plays out all these different scenarios of ‘what could have happened.’ Some of it’s good, some of it not. Some of them almost lead to an unwelcome break in the vast darkness where some of my emotions sleep. Others have me grinning to myself because I’m amused by whatever funny, gruesome thing my brain cooks up.

I go through stages where my interest in something bottoms out. At this moment, the act of writing this is difficult. I’d rather not write this. I’d rather go and curl up on my bed with some headphones jammed in my ears. I’d rather read a book. Typing, though? I’m not all that interested in anything keyboard related. Which makes school one hell of a chore given two of my classes are Microsoft-based.

Mircosoft Word and Excell.

There’s also the thirty-minute drive to said college four days a week. I’m not digging that either, but what can I do? Even if I’m not all that interested in school, I know I have to do it if I want to get where I’m going. So I drink coffee in the morning, listen to some upbeat music, and force myself to go (though I’ve missed three days because of all the shit that’s going on right now). All the above leads me back to Point A:

Something Has To Give!

My mum’s gonna be home soon. She won’t be working for a few months. Which means I have to get a second job to make ends meet (because, right now, I’m working only on the weekend). I have homework from college. I have my writing. I can’t do all of it. I’m too damn, fucking tired. So that means I have to figure out how I’m going to go about all of this crazy shit before I lose my mind.

Mum comes first. Which means I have to get that second job.

I also have to stay in school because I’m working on the future of getting a better job that’ll pay a lot more than what I’m making. I have a few ideas on how to ease that burden off my shoulders. Which leaves the writing, much to my dismay. Something has to go and it would seem my writing is the one thing that will get impacted the most.

That’s what I wanted to say, actually.

I’m not gonna be here as often as I am. Maybe two or three times a month, if I can work it in. As much as I love doing this, this is a free service (minus the fact I’m paying so much every year so I have my own domain). I’m writing here so I can vent, so that I can play with the vague, hard-to-understand emotions and human-on-human relationships.

For all of you who are following me and are reading this, I will be continuing. Just not as often. I can’t afford to. So when I start vanishing for long periods of time on here, I don’t want any of you wondering if I died or something. Because I’m alive. Or, well, I’m alive as I’m writing this. I can’t vouch for tomorrow because no one’s guaranteed tomorrow.

That’s just life, no?

For those who were hoping for some kind of short story or a poem? Sorry. That’s not what this is. It’s an update, an explanation, a view on what’s going on in this head of mine. Stress does odd things to people. While I’m not all that worried about what’s going on, I’m not okay with the fact that my equilibrium has been thrown off balance. One of the constants in my life is in a hospital. One of my old constants is slowly coming back, though that’s a WIP. All the anchors in my life have vanished, fallen, have had the rope cut…or I can’t find ’em. I’m not interested in searching for ’em, either.

Because who the hell has time for that?

So that’s what’s going down. It’s now 5AM, for those who care to know. I’m tired but I’m not interested in sleeping. I think I might go find something to eat, actually. Maybe drink some more coffee. That seems like a good idea. All of you know what’s going on, now.

If you’re reading this, this is my message to myself and to you.

If there are typos, leave them be. I’ll find them one day. Maybe I’ll fix them.

Have a good night (morning) and I’ll see you all soon…ish? Later. I’ll see you later.

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