Indifference

"If man, as the existentialist conceives him, is indefinable, it is because at first he is nothing. Only afterward will he be something, and he himself will have made what he will be." 

Jean-Paul Sartre.

I have never been more confused but less affected by my confusion than I am now. I have absolutely no idea what I want from the world and I am at a complete loss on what to do next. I am surprised that I am remaining so calm. As of Sunday, I have not arranged anywhere to sleep (my options for couch-surfing are becoming sparse) and I don't care. I am nearly entirely indifferent to my existence, I am incapable of making a decision at present, time just keeps on floating by me and taking me with it; I have no will. I always knew I'd one day become Meursault, the narrator of L'Etranger by Albert Camus, unable to attach myself to anything, unable to react to anything, where words are just words, empty and devoid of any real sentiment. I am stubborn.

When I was younger, in my early teens when after years of abuse, I stopped talking to my father, I was seeing a therapist; she inherently told me that the cure to hatred and love was indifference. I meditated on indifference for hours on end, finding it everywhere, especially in the actions of the adults (as indifference is an adult attribute) around me but also in the novels I became obsessed with reading, L'Etranger by Albert Camus being one of them. I stood in awe in front of these protagonists who unlike me, were not affected by anything, felt no pain, considering that all I felt was pain, I was drowned in pain, drugged by pain, swimming in the shit. Fuck anti-heroes, they WERE my heroes. 

Another enticing aspect of existentialism was the lack of control the protagonists had on their lives: to suppress our feelings of anxiety and dread, we confine ourselves within everyday experience, thereby relinquishing our freedom and acquiescing to being possessed in one form or another by "the look" of "the other".  My childhood was so contrived, controlled - my mother didn't do the controlling, I happily did it all myself, but of course with great "help" from my fascist father and with a little assistance from the institutions I was enrolled in at the time. I spent my childhood until my teens full of fear and inhibitions, all barricaded-up in a world which I despised (reason being so as to protect myself from the father and at times, from my grand-father also), so to me, these protagonists were experiencing the freedom, liberty and independence I so thoroughly desired.

Moderato Cantabile by Marguerite Duras heightened my lust for a carefree and fearless existence. In this book, the protagonist Anne Desbaresdes is attracted to danger like a moth to a flame, with no care in the world, no consideration of the consequences of her actions. I craved then and still crave today, the danger as did Anne. The need to be naughty, non-conformist, inconsiderate, selfish, full of emotions, passions and most of all, fearless. That is what I dreamt of. Nowadays, I believe to have reached a more equal medium of the two (fear and danger) but I am not quite there yet. I remember this man " Le Bois" I started fantasizing about when I was 19, just because he told me that he tried bunjee jumping and loved it so much that he jumped three times in a row. How sexy is that??? I couldn't even bunjee jump metaphorically let alone in reality! I still can't.

Let me just point out that all of the above is in reference to my personal life, not my work/social life - I excel at those. It's in the depths of my psyche and my subconscious that the fight for freedom battles on. Only 2 years ago, I managed for the first time in my life to tell somebody that I had feelings for them - yes, at the ripe age of 27. I actually only did it because I knew that the affair wouldn't go anywhere, so my precious independence was safe. God forbid I'd have to tell someone that I do, really love them. Now that is the bunjee jump of a lifetime! I have to date not uttered the infamous words: I Love You. I have screamed them in my head a thousand times, but never dared take the first jump. There is a man now that I think I can love, but I haven't let myself love. He epitomizes all that I wish to be, he completes me. But I have paths to take to get to him and at this rate, considering I am stuck in an emotionless phase, I don't know when or how I will reach his heart. A story to be continued... 

The question is, am I making a mess of myself? Am I letting my life pass me by and will I miss my whole life as a cause of this weighing indifference? Or is this just "life"?