Endless nothingness stretches out in all directions, and however loud I scream, however I might search, there is no answer, no response. Nor, I know, will there ever be.
I am utterly and completely alone.
But I’ve been alone before, I’ve felt lonely and isolated, I’ve fallen deep into the pit of self and had no one to turn to, no one to whom I could bring my worries and pain, no one from whom to take solace.
This is nothing new to me, and I’ve always made it through dark periods in the past. It’s something I’m quite used to having to deal with.
Admittedly, previous isolation was less literal than this. That was a more personal loneliness, one born of despair, of depression, one that could be pushed through with a few simple reminders that however dark my mood, it was temporary, while this…
This is purgatory.
Or it’s hell.
Things got fuzzy after my death, it’s hard at times to remember exactly where I am. Lack of oxygen to the brain toward the end, I suppose. The noose does tend to do that.
Either way, I’m here now, and I have to make the best of it…
This is more than mere smoke and mirrors—metaphors and allusions.
We all visit here at one point or another, like a favorite theme park that no one wants to talk about. Everyone's bought the tee shirt, but few dare wear it out of doors.
Having read a bit about sensory deprivation studies and tactics, I can believe that eternal nothingness would, indeed, be Hell.ReplyDelete
Damn. Sounds horrible.ReplyDelete