Being in Isolation, Together

It would be impossible for you to imagine someone who didn’t “feel feelings,” would it not? I mean, if I was told that my mother just died, would you not expect me to break down sobbing? Perhaps you would expect me to be angry, or even relieved, depending on my relationship with her. Really, though, I would not feel a thing. Maybe, in your mind, I just won the lottery, and I should be jumping for joy. I should be stressed with all the responsibilities of holding such an immense amount of money. I should be thrilled at my new life. Instead, I feel nothing. No, I do not feel indifferent about it, nor am I being nonchalant. I cannot be. I feel nothing. 

At least, that is what I would want you to believe. 

Really, I do feel something. 

Sometimes. 

That is why I choose to stay away from people. That is why I do not hug, I do not kiss, I do not shake hands, nor do I give high fives. I do not do these things because with the slightest contact of another person, I feel everything. Everything they have ever lived. Ever dreamed. Ever felt. Whatever they feel in the moment, or the moment before that, or from the trauma of years ago, yesterday, or even last week. It’s as if I grab hold of their mind and squeeze out every emotion that they’ve ever lived and drink it like lemonade. And the lemonade is not refreshing to me at all. It would be as if I drank the lemonade on a very cold, winter day. 

And the lemonade was iced. 

And I had no clothes. 

And it was sour.

That is why I choose to stay away. There is only so much one can do, though, when you live a life like mine. What kind of life do I live, you ask? It’s really a rather simple one. 

I do not live at all. 

Some call me a ghost, others call me a spirit. On my very frightening days, some call me a demon. I can still remember my life before I passed. I was loved, and I loved. I loved so deeply that I died of a broken heart. Perhaps that is why my emotions are so scattered, or perhaps that is why I cannot feel a thing at all. Maybe the pain of heartbreak is so terrifying that your body chooses to forget how to feel anything and everything, just so it can be sure that such heartbreak would never happen again. Maybe that is what happened to me. Maybe I was cursed to feel everything that everyone else ever has. Why? 

I truly do not know. 

Perhaps it’s a blessing. Perhaps it’s a failed attempt to make up for not being able to feel my own emotions. But what does anything matter now that I am dead, anyways? All I do is wander from place to place, watching person to person. I watch from a distance. Some may say it is stalkerish. I do not agree. The people are interesting, and I wish to know how they live. How they go about their days. Who they see.

If only I had anything better to do. 

There was a day, I remember, where there was one person in particular that I noticed. It was a woman, looking as though she was in her early twenties. Her hair was dark as midnight, and eyes as bright as the moon. Her skin was bronze, beautiful. She caught what little attention I had left in me. I found myself drifting towards her, being drawn to her. She was at a gallery. One filled with art, sculptures, and paintings that do not make sense. I followed her, keeping close behind her. She did not talk to anyone. She kept to herself, just like I do. I looked around at the art, becoming distracted by the colors or lack thereof. That was a mistake–or perhaps not, because she stopped walking and I ran into her. Or, as someone in my situation would, ran through her. And that was the contact I wanted to avoid from everyone. The contact that allowed me to see everything about a singular person in a split second of time. Everything emotionally that I could ever feel in a lifetime, I felt through someone else’s lifetime. And suddenly, I knew everything about this woman. Everything about her, and yet, the one thing that stood out to me the most was . . . 

She was lonely. 

Isolated. 

Tired. 

And immediately, I knew that if I could still feel emotions like everyone else, I would be feeling those exact emotions constantly. I stopped and turned to look back at her. She was still there, minding her own business. You would not be able to tell that she was feeling so alone by looking at her. She appeared to be in awe and even enjoying the sights around her, but I knew underneath that, she longed for someone to share this experience with. Someone to hold onto, someone to laugh with. 

And suddenly, I decided I would be that person for her. 

Even if she could not see me, I could still keep her company. 

Perhaps that would help her feel less alone. 

What else would I do with the rest of my days? 

~*~

I have been with her for about a month now. 

She lives in a small apartment, but it is cozy and warm. I’ve learned that her name is Darlene. She is an author, and everyday she wakes, spending hours at her desk typing away. Sometimes she moves to the armchair. Sometimes she stops to make herself coffee. She cooks beautiful meals, and I wish I could sit and eat with her. Instead, I sit and watch, keeping her company. I go out with her when she goes out. There is a bakery that she frequents a few blocks away. Something she always gets is a cheese Danish and a small coffee. Sometimes she gets two cheese Danishes. It depends on what she eats for lunch.

I try to give her privacy, such as when she changes or showers. Sometimes I just stay. What am I going to do, feel embarrassed? I cannot predict when she’s going to just take off her clothes, anyhow. I could look away, but I have no immediate reaction to it, so I just wait for her to finish. Then we continue on about our day.

Often, I find myself wishing she could see me. I want to talk to her, make her feel less alone. When she is just sitting there, wrapped under a blanket on her couch, I want her to know that I am there with her, and give her the chance to rest against me. When she goes to sleep, I lay next to her. At first, I would keep my distance, but as time went on, I found myself getting closer and closer. 

Tonight, I had my arm over her. 

She looked so peaceful when she slept. I became used to her emotions. I did not mind making contact with her anymore. All I wanted was to be close to her. I liked to imagine she would enjoy being close to me. That is how I would fall asleep, thinking of her wanting to be around me. I cannot remember the last time I wanted someone to . . . want me. To want me around them. I have never wanted to be seen so badly before. I have never wanted to be loved. I have never longed for someone to love me back–

There. 

Right there. 

She jolted awake and turned, her eyes locking with mine. 

She screamed.