The Measured Parameter

I try to quantify my misery, objectify it, apply the same scientific logic that is wont in my profession to mechanise it, that I may come to understand it. But the very reduction of my sadness to a bag of chemicals seems to trivialise the depth of my experience. I may describe it, in great detail, with words and numbers, but that brings me no closer to truly grasping what it means. For knowledge and insight are two very different things.

That my thoughts, whatever their valence, can be spoken of in a mathematisable way, encapsulated in an equation, seems absurd. But Nature is impartial to everything that I feel.

I lean in to the pain, and as the angle of my lean grows, I feel it becoming part of me. That's how I make things disappear – by folding them into my psyche.