The Burden of Embodiment

For most of my life, I found numbness comforting. The ability to tune out my emotions and feel nothing became a coping mechanism that I truly enjoyed deploying. However, I now find myself spontaneously confronted with a surge of emotions, followed by a desolate numbness. My brain will not allow me to think about what I am feeling; instead, I observe the physical world. I look at the trees intently, the wildlife, the graffiti underneath a bridge.

This sounds positive, but imagine trying to express your emotions to a family member, friend, or partner during this wave. Additionally, I tune their emotions and needs out. My partner could be telling me how horrible his day was, or a dream, and all I can think is: “When did humans first start dyeing clothes?”

This numbness has allowed me to achieve intellectual and philosophical feats, while simultaneously stunting my emotional intelligence and ability to be present.

At the moment, I want to lie down and stare at nothing — think of nothing important. When I am faced with this absence, I want to escape the monotony of thought and flesh. I do not want to think of myself, the people around me, my environment, or anything happening in the moment.

My mind is consumed by questions larger than myself or my scope of knowledge: Did prehistoric giraffes have long necks? The color of light. Ancient civilizations. The composition of matter. All these ideas fascinate me more than the ritual of life.

In another universe, I exist as brain only. The body is not there to tie me down with its constant need for food, water, shelter, love, and excitement. As a brain, I am free to conceptualize gravity’s pull. I am free to ponder compositions. I am free to think without being trapped in being. That aspect of life is rather mundane and boring.

If I did not have a partner, I wonder if I would even remember to eat. During my greatest intellectual eras of life, I hardly remembered to maintain proper sleep, food and water consumption, or other worldly activities. I would write, research, and think for hours. Days. Weeks. Months.

Yet this detachment comes at a price: moments unabsorbed, connections strained, and an aching awareness of what I leave behind when I retreat so deeply into thought.

This was likely not a positive thing, though, because I am, unfortunately, human. I require physical awareness and care. I cannot exist only in my mind, but it is a beautiful place to be. That would be the ultimate heaven for me: a life where I am purely consciousness and intellect.

Ditch the functions of physical living! Be one with the All and all with the One. I feel as though my mind exists on a plane so high that only divinity can reach.

And though my mind reaches for heights beyond the body’s grasp, I remain tethered, grounded by the very humanity I long to escape.