When Apathy Rears Its Head

There comes a moment, much like the moment right before you blackout. That moment of fading, of white washed peripherals caving in. A moment when every microscopic speck of matter swells to an overwhelming degree and swallows you whole. It is the moment where you lose yourself. Where incessant selflessness begets a selfish wave of withdrawal. The moment when you stop fighting the rip current and just let it lash you where it will. It is the moment which follows the sudden realization of how long you have been angry or sad or abused. Because it has been so long. Apathy is rain, pouring down from dark clouds and sweeping through the gutters of the heart, collecting complicated emotions and their origins and making them seamless and powerless. Apathy is running away. Apathy is giving up and giving in. Apathy is closing your eyes on an open highway. It is depersonalization. Apathy is a sea siren, luring you in with its mesmerizing song before it pulls you under. Apathy is rushing water. It is standing beneath the descending currents of a waterfall. Filled with the sound of calm. White noise. No thoughts or past permitted to penetrate this thick veil of tranquility. Apathy is music. Submerging yourself in the sound of thoughts depressed, suppressed, regressed, regrets, remorse, released, refreshed...reset. The deepest pain and the greatest joy settled within the same lifeboat, the same single, lingering note. Like East and West intertwining fingers. Romanticizing the saddest experiences and most tragic flaws, making them alluring like fire on the horizon. But untouchable, like the face of the sun on the sea. Failure becomes fluidity, whisked away on a wet, slithering wave. Apathy is wet paint running down the pale flesh of a canvas. Art not ruined, just changing. A metamorphosis. Even the dullest pain scintillates with the shimmer of silver lining off looming clouds. Apathy is the snap after overuse. The crumble after misuse. Apathy excuses you from explaining or understanding or waiting or wanting. It just leaves you numb. Apathy captivates anger. And then releases it at an indefinite time. Apathy is the calm before a storm. The emerald overcast before a tornado. Apathy is the introverted. Apathy is the pushover. Apathy is the demoralized victim. Apathy is the invisible. Apathy is the mask. Apathy is inevitable.

Apathy feels like a refuge, but be forewarned. It makes everything numb. It turns out every light. It blocks every exit. It snuffs out the conscience. It is the ebb and flow of the mind. It barters temporary calm for stolen identity. As pretentious admiration mimics the feel of true love, apathy mimics resolve. Apathy is merely suppression. It is an extension of time. Because everything has consequence and everything must be addressed. Every pain must be felt before it can exit the body. Drop the stones you grip in your hand because apathy will bury you beneath a landslide of guilt before you can even put a chip in the face of the porcelain self you once idealized. Apathy is ambiguous and esoteric blog posts which lack the energy to be composed of anything coherent. Apathy is a cold, hard shell of a woman, unmoved and undefeated. But I don't believe for a second that there isn't a scared little girl trembling inside.