Death of Feeling.

Many are the Jinns and men we have made for Hell: They have hearts with which they do not understand, eyes with which they do not see, and ears with which they do not hear. They are like cattle,- nay more misguided: for they are heedless (of warning).(Al-Araf, 179)

Such are those whose hearts, ears, and eyes have been sealed up by Allah, and they take no heed. (An-Nahl, 108)

I remember the post-op feeling. I would describe it simply as feeling like death warmed over. I could tolerate the way my body felt weak and fragile but I hated the way my insides churned and threatened to spill out everything, even if there wasn’t anything to hurl out. Ops, any ops, involve cutting and scarring, ultimately leading to pain. Even being forewarned didn’t make the hurt less. Solace, would come 3 times a day in the form of Tramal. A painkiller, not so high up the dosage ladder to be equivalent to morphine or novacaine, but lovely nonetheless. It made you slightly dizzy, sluggish, and best of all: numb.

               

It’s been 3 years, so I doubt that it’s come back to haunt me. So why do I feel this way? Drugs mess up your neurotransmitters, making you feel continual or minimal physical stimulation. That’s why they’re bad. But what about the things that numb you inside? Are those bad for you too? I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I’ve nothing to feel except apathy. Deep-rooted nothingness.

 They say: 

“It’s your third semester for crying out loud!”

"Hmm ye lah...."

I’m not an ignoramus. I see the work, I see the deadlines, I see the stress, I just can’t really feel it. This isn’t like rebellion where I get angry, ticked off or get vengeful which would trigger strong responses and productive actions. It’s worse because I do feel all the above, but for an hour, an afternoon, a day at most, then I’m back to being completely feeling-less. I drift through the whole day, wishing it would end, anticipating the dim welcome of my room and the cramped hospitality of my study carrel. Then when the day does end, and I’m sitting there, I get restless and look forward to the next day.

Even Louie has feelings. I've lost to my CAT.

                I know this is bad. Pain, joy, laughter, sadness, stress. They’re all feelings put in me for a reason. It’s come to a point where even my relationship with Him becomes perfunctory, a requirement of the day that I neither seek nor loathe. I get upset that I try to rekindle some sort of feeling; excitement, remorse, longing, Anything, but like I said, even this feeling becomes a temporary phase. I read about empty shell people. The ones who go through life searching for temporary highs because they’re lives are purposeless. Going on a path with no beliefs steering them.

                

I don’t want to be them. I know my purpose in life. Or so I think?

The distinction between waking and sleeping is the senses and sensations you feel. I’m not saying I experience this, but wouldn’t it be awful frightful if both seem the same? Like being on a beach staring at the horizon, looking so far out that you can’t discern sea and sky. They have just blended in to become one big blue blur. That really isn’t how life should be.

Weariness, indifference or dullness are then the typical characteristics of the unbelievers. Believers, on the other hand, are extremely careful, attentive and alert and also encourage other believers with their enthusiasm.

 I fear that because of my sins, my heart has been shut. Locked and hardened due to my own boastfulness and vainglory. Astaghfirullah, I fear for the sake of my eternal soul. I pop pills for known ailments, but I can’t hope the same for emotional ones.

              

 I’m even posting this up because I really don’t bother with who reads this or what people would like to think. I suppose I should probably finish off my EE and if I don’t feel any joy when I click the “Print” button then I might as well dig a hole in the ground ASAP.