Humans are made of emotion. That’s what the expression “we’re only human” is for, right? But then why does it feel like I’m a porcelain doll, being by played with over and over, without feeling? My dress becomes tattered, paint chipped, limbs broken, yet it still feel nothing. As if I’m locked inside a room at a party, and only the muffled voices of others make it through the wall. Yes, it’s peacful, but it’s also empty. Empty of noise, of color, of feeling. So if humans are made of emotion, than am I truly human?