I'm a Human?
I gaze into the mirror, confronted by the familiar reflection I've grown up with. Yet, at times, it feels like a stranger staring back at me. Instead of recognizing myself, I see a face that aligns with the beauty standards of this generation—undoubtedly gorgeous, but somehow not my own. It's as if someone entirely different occupies the space within that mirror.
Now Playing .....”Every Breath you take"
"Hello, my name is y/n—yes, seriously. I'm nineteen, born under the star of Aquarius, though that doesn't seem to be helping with my current predicament."
Curiosity may be creeping in, so let me elaborate. "You see, there's a part of the brain called the hippocampus, nestled in the medial temporal lobe, responsible for all our emotions. In my case, it feels like that crucial part has gone silent. Despite being visible in my CT scans, it seems to have ceased its functions long ago."
Hence, my predicament: I exist in a state devoid of emotions. It's not that I don't display them; rather, I can't feel them as my own. To illustrate, I might express affection to a dog, yet it doesn't translate into a genuine sense of love.
You might wonder, "Why not get it checked? Can't someone help you?" The reality is, I've sought medical attention, but the enigma surrounding my emotional disconnect remains. The question of whether anyone can truly assist me lingers.
As for a traumatic past, the answer is no. In a world where 90% of people have weathered rough childhoods, I find myself in the rare 10% with a seemingly perfect life.
The cause of this emotional void remains elusive. It's a puzzle I'm grappling with, and ironically, the only individual who may comprehend my struggle is someone akin to me.
~Author pov~
As she turned the handle and stepped into her room, the atmosphere shifted from the external simplicity to an internal complexity. The interior, although seemingly average with its white and grey walls and black and red furnishings, exuded a subtle sense of class. It was a space that lacked extravagance but carried an undeniable charm.
Against one side of the octagon-shaped room stood a bookshelf, its shelves crammed with books spanning various genres—mythology, psychology, fiction, mathematics, criminology, each title concealing a layer of her diverse interests. To the untrained eye, it was an ordinary bookshelf, but for those privy to its secrets, it transcended the mundane.
Her fingers danced gracefully over the array of books until they came to rest on one particular tome. With a smooth pull, a subtle click resonated in the room, transforming the seemingly ordinary bookshelf into a portal. The wall revealed a hidden door, and as it swung open, she entered her true sanctuary—a room that unveiled her authentic personality, a stark contrast to the facade she presented to the outside world.
The room transformed into a detective's haven, meticulously dedicated to the investigation of one individual. Every inch of the walls was adorned with pictures of that person, creating an intricate mosaic of memories and moments frozen in time. The atmosphere was charged with the intensity of scrutiny, and a screen positioned in the middle of the room drew her attention.
As she gazed at the display, a subtle but sinister smile crept across her features. With one side of her mouth tugging up, she spoke softly to the unseen figure on the screen, "I'm back, honey." The words echoed with a mix of determination and a mysterious undercurrent, hinting at a personal quest or vendetta that fueled her secretive pursuits.
