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One day in the life of an unfeeling person. Someone was born without the sense of taste, of touch and can't feel physical pain. Nor does he/she have a sense of smell. He/she can hear and see. He/she reached a mature age, and may be your neighbour or your barista, whatever fits for you. Give me one day, one entry in his diary. Have fun ;)

To Not Feel Is To Not Live

Dear Doctor Meadowes,

     ... do I even use dear? Esteemed Doctor Meadowes - no, Bea told me it was too formal for this type of letter. Anyway, back to the task at hand. Write about my day. It's a very stupid task if you ask me (you didn't, you just told me to do it, and wrote out more prescriptions for pills.) Nothing ever happens. On the subject of pills, I think Bea is stealing them. People tell me that I should care if my little sister is taking my pills, but I can't. I can't feel anything, so why should I care (I bet it's the pills' fault, I didn't use to be like this). Bea says I should care. Bea is annoying. She thinks she's the shit because she's a senior in high school. As her older sister, it's my job to bring her down to earth a bit. That's what mom says. Mom is annoying, too. She goes on about what a disappointment I am. She complains about me not going to college. I'm like "Woman, I have a f*cking job!" Not a very good one. I work in the local store. It sucks. What a crap place. I saw a cockroach yesterday. Bea says cockroaches are gross. She once squished one at school. I wouldn't know how cockroaches feel, I've never felt one.  Isn't that just so f*cking sad! I want to know what a cockroach feels like! 

    Bea came to bother me. She brought me a sandwich. She says it was turkey. It could have been tree bark, for all I know. I can't feel anything, taste anything, or smell anything! Simple things people like you and mom and Bea take for granted! What I wouldn't f*cking give! Lately, I can't even feel emotions (your stupid-ass pills are doing this, I swear. I should start flushing them down the toilet, then Bea wouldn't be able to steal them). Bea says that I can still feel emotions. "Anger and frustration at the injustice of it all," she says, or worry when I notice that she's been taking my pills. I don't even know what that sh*t does, how does it affect Bea? Bea says she doesn't take my pills. I wish I could believe her, but I saw her do it. 

     Bea says I should write down my injuries. Injuries. That's stupid. I don't get injured. Bea says that I do, but I just don't feel it. Bea should shut up a bit. Anyway, I walked into the wall today, I stubbed my toe three times on the freaking step that dad still hasn't fixed, and I have some weird bruises that I don't remember getting. Who knows, maybe I tripped over a tree or some stupid crap like that. 

    Mom just came into my room to yell at me. I'm late for work. Again. Craaaaaaaap. 

    Whatever, you'll just read this at our next weekly meeting and give me more pills (to restore my emotions or tap into my feng-shui, stupid sh*t like that). You always do. Sometimes I wonder - what is the point of this? It's not like your helping me, doctor. I still don't feel. 

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