Ever since I embraced my bicameralism I’ve started to see people as my lab rats and bonds as placebos. I gestated when apathy knocked up compassion and burnt love to ashes-here I am the thespian of empathy and narcissism, oscillating between the two. But uncannily enough, high emotion intelligence and a sight of oneself is a burden to carry. You have the absolute control over every move, the most cryptic people seem translucent; you become your own Sherlock and even a fragment of an emotion becomes your wormhole- it consumes you.
Your own mind is your home and little do you know that it is infested with cobwebs if not that then definitely your heart will have indentures in which your blood has frozen while you call those arteries. The problem isn’t confusion or deciding which hemisphere of your mind is a better debater or fighting a perpetual abstract war- the clarity is the demon and words are the necromancy of it. You know exactly how you feel and it kills so you try to fill so little to delude yourself into believing that you’re a robot but the fact remains, you can’t toss away the robust emotional vocabulary you have developed.
What does it feel like to be your own shrink, our own family, make your own breakfast? To shudder at the thought of companionship because you know abandonment and know it in your nerve that you’ll be sabotaged? You want to strip your soul bare before someone but chicken out but when you need someone on a rooftop with a couple of beers and joints and simply stare at the sky as if the stars look like his eyes. The questions originate from that very instant- what the hell have you been doing all this while? Fortifying yourself or just building castles out of dominos around your soul?
How much does clarity terrify you? Because I am shaking as I am listing how distrustful I am under the cover of independent, may be I’ve said too much. Vulnerability feels like being naked after all, so naked and frail that a gush of cold wind could cut through you. Did you ever look at your wrists and felt the flow of blood throbbing against the membranes because you feel too much and it is not even supposed to be your morsel of pain to gulp? You know nights when the world comes crashing down at you because you feel all the weight of the world on your chest- watching the love of your life walk away, crying profusely on the body of a dead person and too many of those crush you. How many times did you let go only to think that you have become a pro at it? And pray tell me how intensely does it hurt each time.
While you are highly emotionally intelligent you know your insecurities all too well but embracing those is a different story. In the process of being pragmatic and dealing with the world which will inevitably fuck you up- you become frozen and shun the possibility of having an obscure possibility of compassion in another human. Apathy consumes you while you call yourself emotionally stable. Being detached is the prevention better than cure and love is one ridiculous joke you are too exhausted to laugh at but casual sex and work or probably, casual sex after work with cigarettes and scotch is what keeps you going. This is what high EQ looks like- articulation and this is what being screwed up looks like-wondering if the sky breaks into laughter every time it thunders and knowing that may be one day you’ll make peace with yourself because you live a lie but owe honesty to yourself before you die. We perpetually oscillate but never amplify like a pendulum from an old wall clock. Our time has become a circle or a routine that encompasses our stagnation and so we go on because apparently, shorter breaks and zero introspection would be the best treatment to the human mind- the treatment of ease and comfort, the ultimate placebo. That’s bicameralism of the human nature- we are empaths to narcissists and egotistic narcissists to empaths and once the dawn breaks, the agony morphs into full coverage makeup or starched suits because another day begins and the inertia needs to be battled with motion while we climb up the download slope.
