Addict without a drug

God, my life feels empty.  I’m isolated.  Everything is dull.  Unsatisfying.  I want to feel alive.

It seems the only things I feel are pain, anxiety and frustration.  And more pain.  Yep, just the plain old physical sort.  Nothing dramatic here.  It’s getting worse still.  No improvements yet. 

I feel like I could very easily become an addict of some sort.  Nothing feels intense enough.  Everything is ordinary and grey. 

Why is that?  Would I feel the same way if I had never experienced samadhi, back ten years ago?  After that I became obsessed with finding it again.  I joined a rather nutty Hindu sect, because they taught me meditation, promised a way back.  Meditated with all my might.  I came close once.  It took four hours straight meditating.  And apart from the bliss, the main thing I remember was feeling alone, so alone.  Even union with the divine was lonely and impersonal.  I went to heaven and nobody was there.

So, maybe you can’t get there with meditation.  I’m suspecting that sex fails too.  And as for intoxicants, there are two many miserable defeated addicts around for that to seriously tempt me.  Sometimes I wonder what the point is, of all those things, if they won’t get you there. 

So I notice that I’m surrounded by squalour.  Notice my neat-freak house becoming a dumping ground.  Rotting vegetables.  Chores still uncompleted from October.  Urgent emails sitting unanswered in my inbox one week old.  I didn’t really notice that I was depressed.  Maybe I’m not.  But I’m just not interested any more.