I cannot think.  Not that I have gone mental and lost my ability to think, but that my thoughts and feelings have abandoned me and left me deserted in a senseless and empty space. I have lost connection with myself. I feel like being evicted from within my own and not being able to get back in, however hard I try to spear into my own self I cannot. I try to get in touch with my thoughts and feel them, but they do not respond to me as if they are cold and dead. I am lost.

I cannot read. I do read and understand the meaning of the words and the sentences but cannot form a sensible comprehension of the whole idea that I am trying to grasp. Then I force myself to shut off all the doors to anxieties, thoughts and feelings of disturbed and chaotic nature in order to fully concentrate on what I am reading just to find all my senses and my mind deadened and unresponsive. I feel like a vacuum, empty and without any mass.

In the midst of all these I do feel one thing, it is of the nature of pain. Perhaps it is pain, though I m not confident and happy to call it pain. It doesn't hurt, it is like having been squeezed wholly to the fullest extent and left as a dead and muddled lump of confusion with no feelings but that of hopelessness. Perhaps my writings are a sublimation of this state of being. Ah hopelessness; how else can you be endured when there is no other choice but to be. It is indeed pain that truly exists, and we are to reify and manifest it. How beautifully Sartre calls it: Nausea.

I shouldn't call it hopelessness, as that might associate it with sadness and call for pity. It is closer to uncertainty and vagueness. By uncertainty I mean not knowing what is and what should be. And the wonder is what to do with this state of existence. It is where one is engulfed by awe and fear of realizing how delicate and subtle the distance between meaningful and meaningless is, just then to feel a cold sensation of how useless it is to have realized that. Whilst it is also learnt that this state of being is to be endured for an unknown length of time, be it on mere rational and ethical terms.