Stoicism was my oldest fantasy.
Indifference was always allurring to me, for as long as I can remember. Not because I detested social contact or interaction but because my social anxiety had conditioned me into believing that having company was mental pressure.
It lured me into believing that every time I was with a bunch of people, I had to be what they wanted me to be, confine myself, my thoughts and align them according to theirs, and it was true. I had to. Seldom I used to rejoice in my social anxiety because I had it at my disposal as my excuse to refrain from meeting people, but often it was the demon that possessed me. I was just a medium of its instruction, and it grow onto me, under my skin and made a home with such a strong foundation that eventually, I grew indifferent to every bond that a human could possible make with another. I grew indifferent to friendship, to love, to family because everytime I indulged in these, I was given proof that they wanted me to be something else, something I didn’t have to offer. Stoicism because my transitory deliverance, at least that was what I thought it was but no sooner did I realise it was only a shackle I let happen. Everytime I met people I felt nothing, I felt numb and the initial want to have a lasting bond with people simply disappeared. I did not know what to do with this indifference so I just conformed to it, as much as I could because I was afraid. I was afraid of being pressurised into becoming somebody else, I was afraid of the demands people would make of me, the expectations coming from the other end. I was afraid that like nobody accepted my authentic self before, they wouldn’t accept it even now. Being stoic simply was my escape from my fears. I had no strength to renounce these demons in me. I had no energy to conform and confine myself and turn into something that pleased everyone else but me. I was paralysed between two choices that were a dead end.
Life had simply become a process, of avoiding and running between two walls only to break at both of them, but one day, you came to me, and the only indifference I felt, the only thing that was numb to me was the world. I could breathe with you, at my own pace. You made no demands of me. You let me be me, around you. It was the most beautiful thing anybody had done to me. You had no judgement in your eyes, those eyes I could easily read from day one, simply because you were a mirror in whom I saw reflections of me.
My demons conspired against you, and tried to build a fear in me again, but I guess there was no room left for them inside me. Being stoic was conditioned to the outside world, to me you were another entire parallel universe of home, and there indifference was a ghost almost faded.
You were my salvation. I didn’t feel empty ever again. Your eyes rendered me a love I could never otherwise taste.
I was so full of you,
because you evoke my senses, once so numb and stoic, again
and the only thing they could sense now,
the only thing they wanted to sense now…