Broken Doll

The world is in chaos. The country is in shambles. People everywhere are rallying to their cause of choice. Lines are being drawn. Choices made. People are making a stand, for good or bad, for what they believe in.

Except for me.

It’s not that I don’t care about what’s going on. It’s not that I don’t have feelings one way or the other about what has happened and what continues to happen. But I just can’t seem to make myself care enough to take action.

This isn’t the first time the nation has been in outrage while I sit at the sidelines, silent. It probably won’t be the last. And it makes me wonder if something inside, some part of the human brain that makes such caring possible, isn’t a little broken.

I don’t feel to the depth that others do, especially not about matters that don’t directly affect me. It’s like I’m detached, separated from the reality that’s happening around me. Like an out-of-body experience. I’m there, but I’m not here. Or maybe I’m here but not there. I guess it all depends on where “here” is, and your frame of reference.

I’ve got friends who are going to protest tonight. They’re marching to the police station. They’re rallying. Bringing water and snacks and everything. Me? I’m going to go home from work and crash. Change out of my scrubs. Get on the couch. Open up my laptop. Cruise the internet, or maybe write. Who knows. But I just don’t have it in me to care enough to want to march for the cause.

Does that make me a bad person? Am I terrible for not wanting to go join them? Or is it just that broken part of me that can’t be fixed by normal means?

I may never know for sure. That little bit of doubt is enough to make me feel a little bit bad about it, but not to make me get up off my ass and affect change.

Maybe someday there will be a cause that will light that fire inside me. Maybe I’ll find the cause to rally behind.

Or maybe I’ll just always be broken.