Earlier today I was struck by an aspect of myself which left me at a loss for words – I knew there was some description for what I was experiencing which would sum up my thoughts on the matter and allow me to better understand myself (cue the immediate reaction to mouseover the “Back” button as you encounter another horrible, introspective blog post).
I envied the ability others seems to exhibit as they genuinely enjoy experiences – I cannot claim to be utterly disabled in this respect, though years of displeasure and hardship have failed to exercise my capacity for joy; cynicism is the ultimate kill-joy. Why is it so hard to simply enjoy life?
I completed reading The Nightmare Factory in my room (rather than outdoors, as I had originally intended) and found an interview with Thomas Ligotti which found the words I had misplaced:
I’m completely detached from anything, including myself and anyone around me. Doing anything just seems plain stupid, which in my opinion it ultimately is. This is the lesson of anhedonia, which is an eminently rational state. But if you’re going to do anything, you must be in an irrational state of emotion, and without this irrationality your life is just numbers: how long, how much, how many, how far. Emotion gives an illusory focus and meaning to our lives.
… I could say that it’s like being emotionally blind, deaf, dumb, mute, and totally paralyzed, but such similes aren’t effective unless you’ve gone through the experience yourself.
Suspicion confirmed: Ligotti’s work resounds with me as a result of shared affliction and affectation.
Corollary: The grain of truth which exists in analysis outside of emotional qualification is a horror unto itself.