I was able to take care of a child today at the pediatric ward. They had me floating in the hospital. “Floating?”
Makes me think about floating in the ocean, floating in the sky. Then I get pictures of bodies. Lifeless ones.
Then I hear a cry. It’s a child. Probably around 7 years old. She is crying because one of the nurses poked her with a needle. They needed to start an IV on her. She was a very small stature and skinny. Her eyes were bulging out of her sockets and I could see the bones protruding out of her body. She looked like a little monster. This child has been fighting cancer for the past two years. In and out of hospitals. Still no cure. But her parents are not giving up. By looking at her it seems like she wants to give up. She is tired of all the hospital visits. All the poking. All the tests. It’s like I could feel her pain. Her agony. I hear her when no one else is listening.
I want to take her away. Take her to a mystical place. Her mystical place. The child then goes into a seizure for a minute and then she stops. We check to see if she is breathing. I could feel her soul slip from her fragile body.
I blink and it never happened. She is staring at me like a deer caught in headlights. What do I do? I don’t pity her. I don’t feel her agony. I don’t feel her pay. I made up everything in my head. I constantly make up things like that in my head because I don’t know how to feel. I have searched for it but I can’t seem to have it.
I have questioned myself all my life. They call us “psychopaths”. We don’t have feelings or any conscience. It’s kind of narcissistic. What am I missing?
Was I born from two parents that didn’t have love for each other. Did they have souls? Do I have a soul?
There is just this emptiness. This void. No darkness or light. No balance. I’m in between.