Issue 10.1 Fall 2014

issue 10.1 cover image

 

 

Numbness

 

Joann Bosas

 


“I’m not really feeling this.” Those words stung in the cool October night air like a horrid song track stuck on repeat. A pause. What should the reply be to a statement of sheer, utter rejection? It hit me like a ton of bricks. Should I negotiate with him perhaps? It had only been a month since that first date, right? Surely, there was something that could be done. This was far from what I wanted. Rushing into something headfirst was always something that I’d done, but I wanted ever so badly to change those past mistakes.

 

“I mean I was going to change the pace of things,” my long awaited reply finally came in a voice I almost didn’t recognize as mine. “You sure?”

 

A pause on his end came. “Yeah, I am,” he finally said.

 

I nodded. Acceptance. That was the next step. There was clearly nothing that could be done to change his mind. I told him I still wanted to be friends and after saying our goodbyes, I yelled out my friend’s name and ran after her. At the time, I thought I would break down and cry so I had no desire to be alone. I figured it would be just like all those other times my heart was broken: fear, loneliness, depression, etc.
I waited. And I waited. Yet..

 

As sure as I was that it would happen, nothing came. Not one tear fell from my face that night. In fact, no hint of sadness ever came. It would be assumed in a heartbeat, I’m sure, that I really didn’t like him as much as I thought, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. How could it when I constantly would find myself wanting to see him? Not even talk to him, just see him. It was a bizarre sort of feeling I got whenever I’d see him around campus.

 

This numbness…it didn’t end there. It didn’t just stop at him; it continued to infect all other aspects of my life like some virus. I was, for lack of a better term, a bitch to all those I
came into contact with. I didn’t care, which is more dangerous than caring. When you care, at least you feel that you have something to lose. I felt that nothing I did mattered anymore. I could be the biggest asshole in the world and nothing would faze me. I was emotionally invincible. I just didn’t give a fuck anymore. And why should I? I lost everything – my step-dad, my mom, my ex, and even this new guy who I only just then got to know as a really cool and interesting person. It just didn’t matter who else I lost.

 

I found myself desperately looking for ways to feel human again. I wanted to feel normal again. I tried inducing pain. I thought about my mom’s death relentlessly, hoping that I would finally break down and cry. Nothing happened. I couldn’t cry over my mom’s death anymore. Did I stop caring about my mom being dead too? What was happening to me?! I thought about self-harm. If I could see my own blood, then maybe, just maybe, I would feel human again and feel

 

That feeling lasted for a week. I don’t think I could call it depression. I don’t know what to call that numbness, that uncaring feeling. I didn’t even care enough to understand it. I just let it slowly take over my life. It hurt my friends in ways I couldn’t possibly understand. But I still didn’t care.

 

I walked into my introduction to English Studies class that Wednesday, officially making it a week. I didn’t really care about my studies anymore. I somehow managed to, not once, skip a class that week. I don’t know how I managed. The thought that I would eventually regret that comes to mine though. I was aware of the fact that this was a stage and it would go away eventually, but how long could that take? How long before I would have to stop this fakeness of acting like I gave a fuck? Who knows?

 

The lecture was centered around good teachers and bad teachers. Okay...fine, I’ll talk about my teachers, sure, whatever. I joined in the class discussion as much as I possibly could. It certainly was a good distraction from the fact that I was numb to feeling. This was my favorite class after all. What better way could I distract myself then being active in class? As the class continued, my professor, truly a brilliant woman, played this video where this guy, I think he was a comedian or something, was going on and on about how high school teachers deal with people saying they are in it for the money and they can’t find anything better with their degree. He spoke with passion – a love and respect for teaching; one that I share…or shared. I was supposed to be numb, right? I wasn’t supposed to feel anything. I was a robot.

 

The passion continued. And I realized the most important, painfully obvious, point – Teaching was something that I wanted to do; something that made me human. I wanted to touch the lives of students and make a difference. I had always said that even if I can change the life of just one student, it would mean that it was all worth it. That I could actually die happy, believing that I would have led a fulfilling life. I have something to live for and therefore, I care. I care so much.

 

 

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