Oh, so there’s a profane word on the post? Who cares? Everybody else. But me.
Apathy; the lack of feeling or emotion, of interest or concern, my best friend.
Well, yea, I have that personality. It’s not that I don’t care at all –I do, really, in the most discreet way possible. I’m not the type who’d say “I miss you” to a friend whom I haven’t hung out with for years. I’m not the type who’d say “I love you” to my parents before going to sleep. But I say them, especially at the most desperate and complicated situations.
Fight-or-flight, swim-or-sink –you name it. I leave only two options to choose from when I’m making decisions. No grey area. To figure it out or just meh. Then I decide. But when nothing works out? Here comes the worst part: the fuck it all stage. I both love and detest that stage. Love it, because I get to lurk in my comfortable cave again. Detest it, because it’s the same thing as giving up and being insensitive to the people around me. Especially the people who cares about me. Family.
Trust me, I have a high level of foolishness. I make a choice, then I won’t care anymore. I don’t think about the consequences. I don’t think about my liver which have been brutally tortured for years from drinking, the money my parents give me to burn, the time I waste retaking subjects at school. And now I’m on the verge of taking up another course. I don’t think about how they would feel. All I care about is their agreement and guarantee. And it’s fucked up.
Fucked up that I have this…this what, a monster? Living in the depths of my heart swallowing every emotion to the point that I don’t feel anything at all.
My apathy is making me selfish, so selfish that I hate myself. And it’s a human instinct not to hate ourselves, so we go around pointing fingers and snarling at other people. It’s wrong. Wrong, but I’m doing it anyway. Gloriously. Incessantly.
I could rant about the nice things I’ve done and how they were easily buried six feet under the ground after making a wrong choice, but I’m not gonna do that. What’s the point of digging them out when people can’t recognize them anyway since the only remnants are dust and rotten bones?
I learned that I have been partly unwise. And it feels good to know that I’m not perfect. I don’t want to be perfect. I don’t want to be famous. I don’t want to lose. There are so many things that I don’t want. And my apathy is the only thing that keep these preferences balanced.
There are things that I need to change. I know.
But my apathy is, and always will be my moat. And I won’t be sorry for this.