Alice suffers very frequently from this feeling. It is impossible to describe – she has tried in ernest so many times but her fruitless efforts only make her feel like it doesn’t actually exist.
The idea of it never going away makes her scream. She punches things, she throws heavy objects across the room. She slams doors in the faces of those who try to help before helplessly dropping her head into her hands and sobbing until the panic wanes.
It is a fuzziness, a blurriness, a disconnection from everything, everyone, herself, nature – physically and mentally. She’s not quite there but she is also not quite away. It plunges her into a silent nothingness. She becomes suffocated by the fog seeping through the vesicles of her brain and fights to keep a grip on the margins of reality. But this drains her, she weakens and she lets go, it’s all just too much effort. Easier just to sink into oblivion until the fog clears.
She can still hear things. But they are so far away, she cannot process them, they float past her and she reaches at their threads, trying to gain purchase.
It is not a peaceful silence. Just a silence that pushes her down into an abyss whilst she gasps for air and clings to anything palpable.
Alice does not know if this is some kind of mental or physical illness. Parasitic infestations, viral hijackings, neurotransmitter imbalances have all been discussed to no avail. All she knows is that her body and mind are saying “no”. All she wants is for the fog to clear so she can see sunnier skies. Which, thankfully, she knows will happen eventually, and if only for the briefest of moments she might escape this hell.
In the meantime, she asks only that you forgive her silence, because she just doesn’t feel like talking.