40. Lost

Dear London Fire Snake Scorpio,

I think something is broken in my psyche. I am not sure how to shake myself out of it. Nothing seems to matter. Nothing seems to be important. I am in a complete, all-consuming weird numness.

I am finishing the course of antibiotics tomorrow. The dizziness, the inability to move from the bed or be productive at all, is somehow installed in my bones now. Where do I start? Why do I start?

I should be alarmed, shouldn’t I? I feel nothing. I don’t care if the kids are fed or bathed anymore. I just go through the motions. And you, I don’t feel you. I am not sure why I am writing today. I think… I think because I promised. But you don’t seem to exist either. Do I exist?

How do I snap out of this? I dived so deep into my own darkest corners that I am not sure how to climb out. Sleep, probably, then an early wakening. I should go for a walk too. The snow has melted, it’s a nice 18 °C outside. My head is still swimming, think it’s the antibiotics still? Dizzy. Nauseous.

I am going insane, aren’t I? Losing my mind for good? I don’t remember ever feeling this empty. Then again, that is one of the special gifts of depression, isn’t it, making you feel like you have never been here before, you will never leave, and you have never felt or will feel anything else either.

I am not sure what is happening to me. Think I am depressed? Think it’s the reaction of a high-octane vehicle to a full stop and immobility of a full week? I wonder.

Well… It’s not a painful place to be. I am not suffering. Just this dread deep inside that knows that this is death disguised as peace.

I won’t wait until tomorrow. I will go shower now, then go for a slow walk outside. I am dizzy from the medication still, yes, but I believe I am losing the grip on reality — and I remember… I think I remember… that people need me. I cannot drift. I think. I don’t remember.

Lost, 
Yours,
Oxy.
April 21, 2026

Help me find him: Have you seen this man?