Feeling like Dr. Manhattan

For reasons unknown, I pulled out my high school year book and Googled someone's name I was thinking about. Found a facebook profile that I wasn't sure about, but looking at the friends pretty much confirmed it was who I was looking for. Their names, all familiar. Their faces, mature and grown.

I don't know what's wrong this time, but I feel as if my life is breaking down. It's almost undetectable. I think it may be due to the fact that I'm so good at faking a smile now that I'm starting to fool myself into thinking things are all right. A large part of me is wondering what life would have been like if I did things differently. I think this is what they call regret, but I've grown so far away from anything that could be called human that I'm starting to feel more and more dead inside.

Recently, a guest at work tried to hire me away. He liked how personal I was with him while sticking to the script. One thing lead to another, and I guess I impressed him a little. When I came home that day, I didn't think much of it. In fact, as happy as my folks sounded when I told them story, I didn't feel anything. I faked my happiness just as well as I faked the smile I gave the guest earlier that day.

I have no motivation any more. I have a half-completed apology zine that needs to be attended to. I have a check to be deposited and college programs to look into. Even the looming pressure to learn to drive a car on my own and overcome that fear has been boiled down to a numbing sensation that can only be described as inconsequential.

I look at porn everyday, often while my family is on the other side of the room in an area were they cannot see what I'm looking at. However, I bet they've seen me quickly scrolling pass the images when I remember they are in the room. I've been masturbating at least once a day since Valentine's Day, causing me to make a conscious effort to not find time to do it over the course of a day. And with so much porn being viewed daily, I'm not even sure what stimulates me any more. Males? Females? Muscles? Tattoos? Mature? Young? Hairy? Smooth? Big butts? Blonds? Brunettes? Blacks? Whites? Russians? Europeans?

I have become the living definition of indifference. Cold, emotionless, and mechanical. What little bit of humanity that was left in me is now reserved only for nostalgia, regret, and a lust towards the things in life that I've missed out on experiencing. Jason would call this stagnation. My teacher in high school would call it depression. My parents call it being lazy.

To be perfectly honest, I wish someone would just come along and rescue me like in the movies. Someone good looking and kind and an all-around great person with practically no flaws. But I'm not living in a movie. I just work for them. And while I'm working, I have to make sure to exceed guest's expectations by giving a great performance. Even if that means faking a smile because I'm emotionally dead inside.