I can’t say how or why it has come to this, or even how I have come to this. I’m not sure if the void, or the thing that I think is the void, has come from the outside in to fill me up, or if, slowly, everything inside has just trickled away, over time; away, and out of me. I don’t know which way it went, or if something came and took it. I feel like I will never know, and, I suppose, it doesn’t really matter.

It’s like I am watching myself from somewhere outside but still somehow attached, by some link that’s fraying and taut, about to snap. It’s like somewhere inside there is a part that holds onto a sense of crisp clarity. That part observes the strained link vividly and watches on while another part, the largest part, the part that is covered and suffocating in the mist. Part living. Part dying. Looking over the slowly deadening part while I watch it die.

I don’t know how else to describe it aside from that way. I can’t think of a clearer way to tell it to you.

Time is shooting by. Months pass; days mingle in, one to the empty next. It’s all undefined. Spiralling. Happening without me being a part of them. I am happening without being part of myself, like I’m not a part of myself, or in myself; moving further and further away from what I recognise. I don’t think my grip could be called a grip any longer. My hand is there, in the right position, reaching out and grasping as one would expect for one wanting to hold onto their life, and themselves. But it’s just there, looking like there should be something just out of its range, but it can’t quite be seen. It holds nothing. It reaches to nothing but craves for an object, and idea, some truth. No matter how much I grab, the flexing and straining amounts to nothing. I cannot reach the life that’s drifting away.

This is useless. Every metaphor I draw for doesn’t cover it. They just don’t fit. Perhaps a combination would suffice but there is no use in me delivering one after the other in an attempt to make you understand what I cannot understand myself. I’m not even sure where I am going with this, but I know it is somewhere. It has to be somewhere. I have to be going somewhere, right? Aren’t we all? Even if we can’t see where that place is, even if we have no control over how we get there, or when we arrive.