There’s several ways to describe my current state: numb, in a coma, drowning, blurred, almost paralyzed in a way. Those of the dramatic type may resonate most with drowning. Or if you’re particularly optimistic, you might be finding yourself feeling nothing but mildly cloudy. I’m just numb. Just numb. That probably sounds ungrateful considering the life I have. With that in mind, all I ask is that you allow me this bit of feeling sorry for myself. Even just saying that I feel sorry for myself doesn’t feel right. I don’t feel sorry for myself, I’m a relatively happy person and I’m content. But maybe that’s the issue. Content. Maybe that’s all I am. Maybe that’s what I am when I lie in my bed early in the morning with just a few words running through my head. These words tend to be “I’m existing.” not “I’m alive.”. Sometimes it’s “I’m surviving.”, again not “I’m alive”. And while, yes I am in fact alive in the sense that my heart is beating and my brain is receiving oxygen, I think I’m right in those foggy hours of the morning. Because existing isn’t always living. And living isn’t always feeling alive. Obviously this sounds dramatic. I’ve only been “alive” for fifteen years, who am I to be judging what’s a fulfilling life? On the contrary, I think that’s exactly what makes me qualified to make that call. As I’m frequently reminded, these are the “formative” years, I’m supposed to be finding myself, developing my personality, building a person to present to the world. This person is supposed to do more than exist. This person is supposed to go out and do more than survive. This person has to live a full life. I blame this coma of sorts on the people who’ve awoken from their comas. As dumb as it sounds, those people are the ones in movies. Not rom-com movies. Movies with teenage characters whose lives are so perfectly imperfect. It’s taken me quite some time to dissect what about these characters makes my coma feel so dark and muddy. It’s that they wake up. They wake up as soon as the idea of a real life crosses their mind. What really fills me with ill will is that I can’t snap out of it like they tend to. No matter how much I hang out with friends, or how much music that’s been categorized as “indie” I listen to, even the naive act of distancing myself from mainstream media does nothing. As I lay concealed in my slump of yearning, I’m forced to watch others truly live. This gives me nothing but foolish thoughts. Ignorant thoughts that forget that everyone has their own struggles. All I can do in this coma, as I’ve been calling it, is wait for the day my life begins. I try to imagine the clarity and cool air waiting for me. The feeling of freedom from all this fog. Without these reminders of hope and desire, I would be alone and asleep in my deep coma. Left with my own thoughts in the deafening silence.