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Bland. Increasingly bland. Blandness is a common occurrence in my day to day activities, and it is made more evident by my ‘condition.’ I have Alexithymia, or that’s what they have been calling it. For those of you who are unaware of what that is, which I'm sure you are, here is the long and short of it.
I lack the ability to ‘love’, or feel any emotion for that matter, hence my ‘condition’, or, so they call it.’ Alexithymia is the difficulty in or inability to recognize or express emotions. The strange thing is, they say, is I am aware of emotion. I can read emotion as any other person does. I simply cannot feel any of my own.
As of right now, it suffices to say I have no clue where it came from. Though, from what I gather, I assume it is genetic. I've asked. I’ve either been ignored or given vague, unclear answers. I’m not envious of people who can feel, not that I could be. I’ve seen emotion tear and destroy families, businesses, and entire lives. I almost consider myself lucky.
That’s not to say I consider myself unlucky or cursed. I don’t wallow in self-pity, I don't whine, or brood. I simply do and doing is as complex as my actions can be. It isn't a handicap. I can perform the same tasks as any other person. I can still function. It's just different. My reality is different and I accept it as such, though, there is the rare occasion where I am curious.
Curiosity is a wicked thing. It comes in generous helpings at the very worst of times. During such occurrences, in a flimsy attempt to quell my curiosity, I steer for the laptop and study feelings like ‘love’. If only for the fact that my lack of it has caused quite a few problems.
It isn't love as it comes to an average mind, but the chemical and biological aspects of love. It’s actually quite a complicated subject. I won't bore you with details, but love is not actually feeling, in the sense of touch at least. The general concept is many chemicals are released from your brain which gives you the sensation that we have now labeled ‘love.’ It has the potential to be quite fascinating, studying such an alien thing, and how it could influence me if I had the capacity for it.
After years of research, from doctors as well as myself, I concluded that there was a hormonal imbalance in my brain which caused my apathy. I’ve tried medications, but they only seem to make drastic changes in the wrong direction, so I concluded that this was superior.
If you're wondering how I go about my days or how I've lived my life thus far without people pestering me or being a loose thread in our tightly-knit society, I have your answer.
No one asks questions because no notices any difference.
Humans were made to mock and mimic. Everything we’ve ever known is an adaption of everything we’ve ever learned. Though, there are curious busybodies who, upon discovering my condition, make it a point to ‘know me better.’ They ask questions along the lines of, “Don’t you ever wonder what love is like?” or, my personal favorite, “How was your home life?”
In essence, the question is, “Were you abused as a child?”
The answer is no. As a matter of fact, I had quite an easy life, privileged even. My mother was beautiful and loving, a splotch of color on the grayscale of monotony that surrounded her. Her hair was a fiery red. Her skin was pale, save for the few freckles littering her cheeks. She was a real estate agent. The type to bake cookies and give goodies to potential buyers. Her radiant personality gave her an edge in her career that most people can barely fathom.
There wasn’t a house she couldn’t sell.
At least until the Alzheimer's began to set in.