Dear Self,
It’s been a while now since I’ve been stuck in this numb loop. The days blend into each other, like a song on repeat that you can’t skip. I guess that’s why I keep coming back to the same thoughts, the same patterns, the same questions that never get answered.
The title of this post is a reference to a recent one I wrote, but also to Post Malone’s song Circles. That song encapsulates exactly how I experience friendships, relationships, and, if I’m being honest, my own mind. We keep going round and round, expecting things to be different but ending up in the same place, over and over again.
Great question. I don’t know. I’ve reached a point where I can only differentiate between anxiety and non-anxiety. Everything else in between is just static noise.
Sure, I have moments of happiness. Moments where I feel content. But it’s like my default setting is some kind of numbness. Like a grayscale filter over everything. Not black and white, not good or bad, just… muted.
I have feelings I want to express, but they will be perceived as pressure from the recipients. I want to move on, but I also want to go back, and it sucks when the decision is not only in your hands.
The photo I took a few days ago encapsulates my struggle. A short-animated series of pictures of me in the shower, completely surrendered to whatever is happening. The red lighting casts everything in an eerie, dreamlike state—detached yet overwhelming. Water drips down my face, soaking into my clothes, as I stand still, unflinching. It’s like I’m watching myself from the outside, seeing someone who is neither resisting nor embracing, just existing in the moment without a fight.
The pup hood, usually a symbol of a confident, not worried identity, now feels like just a piece of neoprene. Its colors, washed away by the lighting, mirror the way I feel—like a faded version of myself.
So, my actual question is: Where are you Zack? I’ve missed you.
Of course, Zack is me, but in a sense, he’s also a different part of me. He was always there to take care of me, to let me have fun in ways I couldn’t before. He allowed me to hide away from the person I was and let Zack take the lead.
Ever since I lost one of the most important people in my life, it feels like they took Zack with them. Like Zack chose them over me. And honestly, I can’t blame them. If I had to choose between the real me and Zack, I might have picked Zack too.
And yes, I know I should be proud of myself and happy with who I am. But sometimes, you just can’t. Sometimes, you need to cry and vent and say things you don’t fully mean, just to get them out of your system.
One thing is for certain—since December, the person in the pictures is not Zack. It’s just me, the human, wearing a pup hood.
As an online friend of Zack’s pointed it out the other day:
“In none of your pictures you are smiling lately.” She said.
“Well, I am wearing a hood so how could you tell?” I replied.
“Yeah, I know but like your eyes don’t have a smiling expression. So, what’s up?”
Then I knew. Then I saw it. It’s because, in those pictures, it’s not Zack posing. It’s me. Looking for a way to be heard among the deaf.
I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like I’m talking into a void, waiting for something—anything—to echo back. And yet, when I’m alone with myself, I realize I’m not really seeking validation from others (I never was). It’s not about them hearing me; it’s about me hearing myself. It’s about finding that part of me that used to be sure, the part that knew who he was and didn’t question his place in the world.
But that part feels so distant now. It’s like I’ve been standing still, waiting for some cosmic shift that’ll make everything click back into place. But the truth is, that shift might never come. Life doesn’t work like that. We can’t just wait for everything to magically align; we must put in the effort, the work, even when we feel like we’re running in circles.
It’s exhausting. Sometimes I think I’m too tired to try anymore. Maybe that’s where the numbness comes from—the emotional exhaustion that leads to disconnection. A part of me doesn’t want to feel, because if I do I’ll just sink deeper.
I am not missing help or friends. I miss a place called home. Which I lost recently. Metaphorically at least.
Building again sounds daunting, like starting from scratch only to risk the same thing happening again. The weight of that fear can keep you stuck, locked in this loop of not moving forward because you’re afraid of losing it all over again.
But for me it’s even harder, because I don’t know what happened to my old home.
Kind Regards,
Zack (Or the Human beneath the mask)
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