I touch the fire and it freezes me

I've been told in the past my eyes are my best feature. They're very expressive. I've said before my eyes are like a kind of mood ring, the colour changing with my emotion. Checking my reflection, they're a steel grey/blue -- and on very rare occasions they look green. I think the grey is important, it gives an edge, it says "thank you for not sharing".

People have been asking me recently how I am, how I feel. The truth is, I don't really feel anything: I touch the fire and it freezes me. This is a long way from the intense, broiling depression that consumes you, it's not even a quiet desperation or even exactly unhappy. It's just not really anything. I haven't talked about my feelings because I don't know what to say, I don't talk much because I have nothing to offer anyone except my own confusion.

In January, I rejoined the gym. I was frustrated at becoming increasingly unfit, and having lost all the gains I made when I was visiting a few times a week. Less than two months later, and I can both see and feel the difference. Slightly leaner, slightly firmer, and not feeling nearly quite as podgy. You decide to get into shape, so you visit the gym three times a week, and you're pushing yourself constantly. It becomes its own reward. So why can't other areas of our lives be like this?

I make grand decisions; be more confident, be more positive. But I need some kind of emotional or mental workout, or just have no idea how I am supposed to get the rest of my life in some kind of order. I say I will focus on one thing at a time, maybe work out what I am meant to be doing with my career, or work out how I am going to move out of here, then once one thing is on track, start another plate spinning; maybe start looking for another girl.

I suppose the trouble is not knowing what you want. I want to be creative, I want to be an artist, I want the respect of the people who have passed through my life. When people ask me what I'm doing, or when they hear about me, I want them to be pleased -- he knew what he wanted, and he went out and got it.

It's strange, I still think back to teachers I had when I was 18 and I think "I want them to be proud of me" or the university lecturer who helped me on my dissertation, or even the parents of ex-girlfriends. I want them to say "I always knew he'd be someone". These people probably don't even remember me, but I still want their approval. I just don't know how.

I know ultimately it's up to me -- just like nobody else can make me get into shape, or get into shape for me, but at least it's fairly clear how to go about it. But instead of feeling depressed, instead of wanting to cry or scream or anything else, I just don't feel anything.