Haven't written in awhile, wanted to get back into it, but couldn't figure out what to write about, so I thought I'd try an experiment and see where it'd take me. Turns out it took me somewhere pretty depressing.
This story isn't a cry for help or anything, I just tried to tap into an emotion I have sometimes that's hard to put into words. There was no story here, really, just two disembodied voices talking with each other trying to explore this obscure emotion. By the end, some remnants of the story started to come together in my mind, but I honestly didn't care enough about it to expand on it, so I ended it the only way I knew how: suicide.
I hope to continue writing, hopefully it'll get better from here on out.
---------------------------------------------
"May I ask you how you're feeling?"
"Sure."
"So..."
"I feel fine."
"Could you perhaps tell me how you're feeling in a little more detail?"
"Yeah... okay. I guess... I feel apathetic. No, well, yeah, but frustrated too."
"Are you sure you feel both? Can you really feel nothing and frustrated at the same time?"
"I didn't say I don't feel anything, I said apathetic. It's emotion control, I can feel all sorts of things; happy, sad, angry... I just numb them, hence, apathetic."
"You numb your own feelings then?"
"Sure. It's not hard, it's not like people can just escape their existence on a whim. We all deal with it, and when I deal with my emotions, I store them in a little box so I don't have to deal with them until later."
"Does that sound healthy to you?"
"I'm not sure why you feel like you're an authority on what's 'healthy', you fucking psycho. But yeah, whatever, I'm actually doing okay, y'know. I'm physically healthy, I manage my emotions okay, they don't affect my professional or social life, I'm fine."
"Was there any part of that last sentence you felt wasn't truthful?"
She saw right through me... did I stutter when I said it? Did I want her to pry?
"Alright, so my social life sucks. Fine."
"Why do you think that is?"
"Are you trying to sound like a psychiatrist?"
"I'm trying to help you."
I laughed. "Right, right..."
Silence.
"Okay well, to put it simply, I don't really have a social life."
"Do you want one?"
"You know, I don't really know. I think that if I really, really wanted one, I'd have one. How many times have I actively avoided socializing with people because I felt it wouldn't be worth my time? Not that you'd know, but the answer is a lot. Most of the time, it's fine, too. If I want to hang out with a friend, they're a phone call away, I don't really have to be lonely, but that's not it... I mean, fuck it, whatever, it's not about friends, it's about... that other thing."
She looked at me sympathetically, still saying nothing.
"Fuck you. I'm lonely. Jesus."
"Does admitting this always make you so angry?"
I tensed up, I truly didn't want to talk about this, I wanted it to go away more than anything, but there was nothing I could do. Maybe I did want to talk about it. How many times have I been in this situation before, though, what good did it do? What good did it ever do me? Do I really want to open up this can of worms, expose myself, to this woman?
"I don't know, it's just uncomfortable. How should I deal with it?"
"With honesty."
Fuck...
"You want honesty? I'm unfit for this life, this social paradigm, this... I don't even know what you call it, this ritual? I don't fit the bill, I don't fit anyone's bill, I'm not about to subject someone to hundreds of hours of my bullshit just to trick myself into believing that I'm normal."
"You don't think you could ever be happy? With someone else?"
I don't know...
"I don't know."
"Do you think it's worth a shot?"
"Christ, what is this, motivational therapy? You know damn well I'm going to give up by tomorrow. I don't have it in me, I'm not like everybody else, and not like in a 'special' kind of way, I'm just some fucking average dude that fucked himself unknowingly and now it's way too late to salvage anything that could ever possibly be conceived as worthwhile. I carry too much of other people's weight on my shoulders, I'm not strong enough to deal with it, and I don't want to subject others to my fucking demons either. It's done, there's no training wheels for this type of thing. I'm finished. I'm fucking finished."
"Do you truly believe that?"
"I don't know for a fact, I don't know anything, it's just a gut feeling, one of those gut feelings that almost always ends up being true."
She looked at me for a long time, probing my sincerity. I wasn't sure how she was gauging my expression, but after awhile, she looked away with a look that I could only describe as satisfaction. With a shrug, she turned around and got off her stool to stand by a table, shifting around various tools.
"Are we done here?"
Without looking back at me, "Not even close..."
It was hard to tell what she was messing around with over there, but after a few moments, she returned to where I was strapped with what looked like a wire-frame orb. It wasn't until she came closer that I recognized it as a scalp massager. She walked behind me and gently applied it to my head. The sensation was nice. I realized how tense I was and slowly but surely allowed myself to relax. Once she noticed this, she began to hum a soothing and unfamiliar tune. I closed my eyes, secretly hoping the moment would never end.
"Do you like being alone?"
"No."
"Then why do you hide?"
"I... I'm afraid?"
"Afraid of what?"
"Dealing with the unknown... other people are like... huge wells of uncertainty. Honestly... I think other people have it worse than I do. I mean, sure, I've given up a long time ago, but it's because I'm okay with it, I'm somehow... I don't know, strong enough to be alone. Other people, I think they seek each other out because they literally can not stand being alone, their fear goes well beyond mine. I simply just... don't want to hurt people."
She continued soothing my scalp. After my little rant, she put the tool down somewhere behind her and then started using her fingers to massage the back of my head, then down to my neck.
"It sounds like you're in a position to help these people. Have you ever thought about being there for these people, to help them?"
What is this... how did this get so turned around? "I guess, but... I don't think you get where I'm coming from, not really. It's not your fault, I'm just really, really bad at explaining myself."
"Go ahead..."
I took a deep sigh, allowing myself to collect my thoughts a bit before continuing. "I am there for others, when they need it, I do it a lot, and it doesn't help. It just exhausts me, I feel used up, and... I hate to say it, I might be awful, but I just don't get anything out of it. Anything I can offer, it's so... temporal. Why spend so much time and effort putting band-aids on other people's emotional scars? What am I doing, really? Delaying the inevitable? Is that all anyone can do? If that's the case, then what the fuck is the point. I might as well suffer alone."
She stopped and sat back down in the chair in front of me, then looked at me intently. "Why are you so afraid?"
Afraid of what? What was she getting at? Am I afraid of something? What did I say earlier, about me being afraid of the unknown... am I backtracking? Why would she ask that?
"Um..."
"Please, tell me, don't hide anymore."
Inexplicably, a tear formed in my eye before I knew what even triggered it... I was hiding again, she was right, but I wasn't sure what I was hiding from. Am I afraid? What am I afraid of?
"I'm afraid of letting people down."
Was that it? Did I say the right thing? Was that the root of my fear?
She never changed expression, motionless, she still retained that hint of concern, sincere concern.
"I'm not good enough. I spent my whole life hiding, I'm not equipped to deal with other people's emotions, their problems. I have never had to deal with any sort of emotional bullshit in my life ever. I've never been in a relationship, I have no idea what makes them work and what doesn't. I'm absolutely clueless. How could I not let someone down? I'm a fucking bomb ready to self-destruct, and anyone else near me is going to get caught in the blast. I don't want that, the only thing I can do, the only empathetic thing to do, is to stay away, keep others away, to die alone, by myself."
She made a movement with her hand, as if she wanted to reach out and hold me, but she knew I couldn't reach back. I was constrained, there was nothing I could do to reciprocate. She receded. Then she faded away. And again I was alone, in a chair, unable to move, nothing to do but wish she was still here, still talking to me, helping me forget about my situation.
I'd go hungry soon. There was nobody else around me. I was going to die here. I got my wish. I got my wish... I got my wish...
I remembered the girl's hum, and began to hum it to myself, trying to recreate that soothing feeling she offered me. I wanted to cry, but I couldn't bring myself to muster up the emotion. I felt so empty... a loneliness beyond loneliness. Despair, they call it, right? Was that the right word?
I would die of thirst before hunger... I wonder which way is worse. I wonder if I could suffocate myself. I tried to reach for the collar of my shirt, but found out I could grab it by the shoulder instead. If I needed to I could chew a big enough piece of it off and swallow it. With any luck it'd get lodged in my throat and I'd die that way. Sounds awful, but it'd be quicker than just waiting it out.
I began to hum louder, but I forgot part of how the tune went. The harder I tried to remember, the more of the tune I forgot. After a few minutes of this, I forgot the tune completely. I didn't want to go out like this... I wanted at least that small comfort, but even that was gone. There was nothing left but death. My heart began to race. Is this what I wanted? Why couldn't I just say no? Fuck... fuck fuck fuck... I can't care anymore.
I breathed in heavily, held it in, and exhaled slowly. I did this again, and again, and again, until eventually no more thoughts came to mind. I began to chew my shirt.
