The Ghost Of Emptiness  

I came home from work last night with my stomach roiling like the sea, dropped my backpack off in my room and left again, my cupboards empty. I went from supermarket to supermarket for the next two hours, completely incapable of finding anything I would ever possibly want to eat. I knew that I didn't want to cook anything, I didn't want to fire up the burners on the stove at all. The most I wanted to do was microwave something, but even that seemed too much. I was walking through frozen food aisles, looking dispassionately at bags of french fries, Hot Pockets, microwave burritos, wondering why nothing seemed to even come close to satisfying me. I thought of the people who support me, I thought of the weight that I lay across them, and I was ashamed. I walked through the aisles of Gristede's with an empty basket in my hands. I felt completely drained, not filled with emptiness but rather filled with the ghost of emptiness, the residue and remnants of past sorrows that I can no longer access. I was fufilling my duty, shopping basket in hand, motivated by no other forces besides rote habit. I am a curdling void, robbed even of his ability to suck. I am the shadow cast by a hole.