I haven't felt anything for years, and I don't know what to do.

I'll preface this by saying: I'm open to suggestions. I am not a danger to myself or others. I am consistently receiving help from professionals. My family is aware of everything you're about to read.

I've decided to write this post because earlier I was walking to the store, almost walked into the street to cross, and a car came speeding right past my nose. I didn't have any desire to get hit or something, but in that moment I thought "well, if it did..." and then realized I was completely impartial to it. The thought crossed my mind that I'd be fine with the end. I'm not seeking it out, and have no desire to end my own life, but it was just a weird indifference. I feel guilty and ungrateful.

I've been living for years now and I don't feel anything. One of my parents passed, some time ago, and at first I thought it was the grief. Then I realized it was something more.

I went to therapy, first therapist didn't work. I tried multiple therapists, found one who would listen to me, she gave me actionable steps to improve my life. I did the work. I had fewer nightmares. Maybe it was a disassociation disorder, so I was treated for that. Maybe it was anxiety. Maybe it was ADHD.

I thought it could be a chemical imbalance. Maybe it was my brain. I went to a psychiatrist. Bupropion, Mirtazapine, Zoloft, I ran the gamut. Nothing worked long term. If it did work, I'd feel okay for a month, then suddenly I'd feel terrible.

I had considered it was a physical health problem. I had multiple surgeries on my back when I was younger and have had chronic pain since. I went to physical therapy for 3 years, did my daily exercises, and worked until the pain went away. I have been pain free for years. I had very bad allergies to all fruits and vegetables, so I got treated for them and indulged in every food imaginable. I thought I was eating badly, so I went to a nutritionist for a few months. I drink water, get my vitamins, eat clean. I even did a sleep test and it turned out fine. I ran every day for an entire summer and felt this malaise. I cut off my addictions, maybe it was the porn, maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was the weed, maybe it was the caffeine. It took me ages but I have no desire to return to any of them.

Maybe I was lonely. I had multiple cats. One of them passed away, the other I had to give up. They gave me attention, and I loved them very much, but it didn't work. Maybe I just needed someone? I tried dating, it was hard at first but I put myself out there, went on lots of first dates, had a few relationships. They didn't make a difference. Maybe I was taking it too seriously? I fucked a stranger just because they were hot. I felt nothing. I tried forming genuine connections with people, the rejection was expected but the connections... I felt like I was just using others to try and fulfill myself. It didn't do anything for me, and that wasn't fair for others.

So I turned to all of the other things people said worked for them. I went out into nature, camped, hiked, fished, swam. Nothing. I traveled the world and have lived in tens of cities. I spent a month in Asia, wandering, eating, and relaxing. I went to Europe for months and met hundreds of people. I lived in the Caribbean on sunny beaches. I tried clubbing, dancing late at night and getting drunk. I tried drugs. It was fun in the moment, and terrible after. I quickly realized this was only going to make things worse.

Maybe I needed a change of pace? I dropped everything. I left the city. I moved to a quiet tiny place in the middle of nowhere. Nothing. I picked up and flew to a completely different city, lived by the water, tried all the best food, got into the local music scene. Nothing. I backpacked from place to place visiting family I hadn't seen in years. Nothing.

Could it be introspective? Could I be missing something from my identity? I've come to grips that I'm bisexual, and that took ages. I admitted it to my family and they accepted me for it. I explored my own gender, and realized I felt I was who I was. I look at myself in the mirror and see myself, and accept that it is me.

Was I not being creative enough? Did I need a new hobby? I explored the arts, I went to the grandest halls and stadiums on the planet and saw the most amazing artists perform. I pushed myself to talk to some of them after and discuss their craft in depth. I've written my own music, purchased countless instruments and learned to play them. I spent my mornings learning new languages to speak with new people as I traveled. I read countless books. I grew plants. I built model kits. I played video games. I went to local record stores around the world and spent thousands on a collection. I watched movies and shows people said were amazing. I spent weeks wandering museums, aquariums, zoos, speaking to the staff and hearing the passion in their voices. I bought fancy coffees and teas. I built expensive keyboards. I started journaling.

I still felt a void.

So I thought, maybe I'm not working hard enough. We had a life insurance policy for my parent, and because of their position in the government we receive their income. It is enough that I don't have to work anymore (this is how I've had the time to do all of this). And so I decided I wanted to get a job. I have a graduate degree and applied to what must have been hundreds of positions, I had countless interviews. I worked countless positions at different levels. I decided to shift and teach what I knew, I became an academic at a university nearby. Maybe I needed to give back. Maybe I needed to help someone. I taught my students and watched them grow, seeing as they flourished and became even more than I could have imagined. I worked a non-profits for underprivileged kids. I advised them as much as I could. I made generous donations. I developed curricula that impacted hundreds. My impact was measurable. I've become known in the community. I've been thanked by everyone for the change I've made in their lives. I've won awards and been honored on stage. I pushed myself harder than I could have imagined, and ended up burning out.

And throughout all of this I confronted the obvious: Maybe I'm avoiding my problems? Maybe I'm not dealing with them? So, I cried, I went to all of the places that hurt the most. I remembered everyone I've lost and everything they meant to me. My therapist and I spent hundreds of hours working through it. I pushed myself to encounter every emotion. I was mindful of my needs. I spend hours on self care every day. I got the little treats. I did the meditation. I followed the glimmers.

Before you ask, I turned to religion. I felt I had exhausted my options. Nothing. I read the bible, spoke to priests and rabbis and preachers and theologians. I read the Quran and spent hours discussing with my closest Muslim friends. I turned to Buddhism. I turned to spirituality. Never for a moment could I place my faith in anything. It just wasn't for me, and I left it behind. I spent the next while reading philosophy, taking online courses in it, and trying to learn more about how all these deep great old thinkers saw the world.

Maybe I was overthinking it. Maybe I was thinking too far ahead. I let myself simply... be. I read in the park. I ate croissants. I slept late. I cooked tasty meals. I sat on a bench and listened to a man play guitar in the park. I woke up early to watch the sunrise while I did yoga. I helped the people I love. I called my family every day. I spent time with my best friends. I did stupid, silly things, and acted impulsively.

And now we're here. I feel a tremendous amount of guilt. I've been living an amazing life and I just feel... nothing. I'm not scared, I'm not excited, I'm not happy, I'm not in pain. I mask in front of everyone I know so tremendously, because what else am I supposed to do? The only thing I've felt is guilt, I have all this privilege, time, these resources. I've given so much to myself, the people I love, and strangers.

I even thought, maybe the guilt is it. Maybe that's the problem. Could it be that I'm living this amazing life, feeling nothing, and need to drop my baggage? I admitted it all to everyone I love. I admitted it to friends. I admitted it to strangers. Some didn't believe me, but accepted my words. Some said regardless of what I'm feeling, it's silly to feel guilty, because I've lost so much and done so much for others. That I deserve these privileges. And like that, the guilt turned into confusion.

It can't be anti-social personality disorder, I considered it for a while and consulted professionals, I have too much empathy and care for others. The missing piece here is feeling some kind of fulfillment. I've chased everything I can imagine.

So, what the hell is wrong with me?