I arrived at the bus stop again. I observe it a little more this time. The yellow paint is pealing, revealing rust, the glass is sprayed with profanities, there’s also some paper on it. Horseback riding private lessons, and it’s by one of my classmates from middle school. She’s younger than me, as far as I’m aware, interesting. I tore the paper down and throw it in the trash. The windows of the houses are all dark, no one is awake and no one is looking, only the stars and the street lights, perfect. To me surprise all the houses are dark, except one, mine. My room’s light is on. Acknowledging this, dread started filling my heart, sweat formulating on my forehead. My legs stopped on their own, I don’t want to go inside and face my parents’ questions and remarks about why I’m outside. A minute or two passes before I decide to head inside. Surprisingly, no one greets me, so I go inside my room. The light is still on, maybe I forgot to switch it off before I left? Most likely.
What would have happened anyway if I got caught? It would be unreasonable to scold me or anything. I don’t even know what causes my fear, it’s just my parents. Yet, I don’t want them to see me. To be fair, I don’t want anyone to see me, and it’s always been this way. After changing back into my pyjamas I turn off the lights and my computer and lay in my bed. I feel tired. I glance at the digital clock on my nightstand, 11:08pm. My whole body feels weak, and my eyes can’t seem to stay open. Good.
I have conflicting feelings about sleep. On the one hand, there’s chance that I might dream about my fantasies of being in school again, which is obviously great. It’s always cathartic, always peaceful to relive the past with my current self. However, on the other hand, I also have dreams in which my teachers and sometimes my old friends find out about my current situation, and the shame of that unbearable. I had great teacher throughout my years in education, especially in high school. Hopefully they forgot about me.
The next day isn’t much better than the previous one. Despite being tired, and going to sleep later, I still wasn’t able to sleep soundly. Today is filled with misery just like the rest. A few years back on days like this I used to watch porn and masturbate my sorrows away which frankly never proved to be a good solution. Even more guilt and a significant loss in cognitive sharpness was sure to follow my self-satisfactoryacts. I suspect that I have always had low levels of testosterone. Also, certain life experience made me realise later that I was merely substituting not just the physical aspect of love, but the emotional one as well. I would usually watch the same porn videos and would fantasise about the women in them. This fantasy wasn’t just of the lewd kind, but many times it involved platonic love as well.
For most of my life, I tried avoiding people and conflict at all costs, to a ludicrous degree. I’ve always thought of myself as a victim, a weakling, someone who would be better of staying in the shadows, hiding from people. I am not a man, in my heart I know it.
The expectations that which I have to obey terrify me. To be strong, independent, a leader, handy, stoic, all utterly impossible. My parents allowed me to avoid all the frictions of life, therefore it is no surprise I ended up being as meek as I am in this current moment. Can’t even leave my bed. It’s 8:02 am. I don’t know how many hours I’ve been lying in my nest, going in circles with my thoughts and fantasies. If I were to get up I’d just sit in front of my computer for more than 10 hours again. Rotting in bed almost seems like a better alternative.
I let another hour pass for there is no need to rush anything here. No matter where I look it’s all the same. Maybe it’s all an experiment, manufactured imbeciles. After getting up, washing my teeth and face I check my gums. I failed to mention this before, but I have gingival atrophy around my lower central incisors. It’s not too severe yet, but due to my fear of confronting my problems those two teeth are going to fall out soon. When I first discovered that my gums were peeling it sent me into a great despair. I immediately pictured myself among a group of males in their 30s and 40s working in a factory, their teeth also missing. That was the first time I ever cut myself. I’ve been using the same knife for when I feel hopelessness swell in my chest. Today is one of those days.
I pull out the knife from the drawer and start cutting into my left forearm. I try to do a better job than I did last time. I start next to the mole on my arm, grit my teeth, and push down the blade on myself. When I lift the knife, blood starts to drip down. The sight and feel of my own blood escaping my body fills me with satisfaction, and a certain sense of accomplishment. “Yes! I am strong enough to hurt myself!”. Being able to make a choice and follow through with such an action gives the illusion of power. It is self-serving, meaningless, and pitiful. My arm is painted in red, but there’s something else that’s needs to be done. I go into the bathroom, turn on the tap and put my arm under it. I slowly start making it hotter and hotter. I do this until I can’t handle it. My whole forearm is in agony as it should be. The pain triggers my instinct to pull away, but I repress it as much as I can, making my whole body uncomfortable.
The first time when I resorted to harming myself I felt ecstatic, adrenaline filled me, and I was filled with energy afterwards. Today it’s just fine, it gets me through the day, soothes my mental anguish a tiny bit, but it’s barely worth it. Something that is interesting to me is the repulsion people feel when they are around someone who harms themselves. They instinctively think that person is dangerous, so they pull away to avoid being caught up in sticky situations. It’s all self-defence. In all honesty, I would love to meet someone who performs such acts like this, since it could be something we bond over. Maybe we decide to leave behind the habit together, or better yet, we commit a lover’s suicide.
I don’t even know what I’m thinking. There’s no coherence. I see flashes of daydream fantasies, alternative lives, the past, the future – or rather a fantasy version of it -, everything is hazy. I wish there weren’t any thoughts. I want silence. I want nothingness to engulf me. I’d like to think that no religion is true in the end, since having my conscious carry on into the afterworld scares me. Many people are afraid of eternal darkness, their consciousness fading into oblivion, leaving behind the realm of the living. However, to me, the fact that I don’t have to carry over my whole existence to another world is truly a joyful thought. Waking up in another world would put a definite end to my life here, which means even more regrets and guilt. When I die, I want an ultimate end to my story, not heaven nor hell (obviously), or anything in-between.
Spending another hour in front of my computer I realise that I hadn’t cleaned my knife yet. The blood is dried up on it, and since I’m in no mood to do dishes, I just put it in the drawer. No one will check it out. Thankfully, my parents are both oblivious to the scares on my arms, even when I’m wearing t-shirts. I forgot to check the time again, and my dad arrived surprising me only a little bit. We greet each other the same as always and continue ignoring the existence of the other.
“Have you fed the cats?”
“Oh, I forgot about that, sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. I will feed them then.”
“Okay.”
I’m thinking that maybe I should go after him and feed the cats myself. After I minute of contemplation I decide to do it.
He’s already poured the content of some cans into some plastic dish containers. My dad is old, 55 years old to be exact. He is short, overweight, has long grey thinning hair and looks totally broken inside. To be fair, he’s also a pathetic person, works a trade job in a factory for the minimum wage of his particular job type. Never put in any effort to better his life, just like me.
“Do you need help?”
“Could you put these down for them?”
“Sure.”
My dad’s legs and hips are really bad nowadays, yet it still doesn’t motivate me to help around more. It’s selfishness on my part, and contempt against my parents. They brought me into this world and didn’t make any effort to raise me right, so I am under no obligation to help around like a regular offspring. There is something fascinating about people who had a normal upbringing. They just do stuff, know how to deal with challenges, have interests, connections, and live. I wonder what would a normal person like this would do if I were to body swap with them.
A great concept, actually. They should make a movie like this, but maybe there is one already. If it exists, it probably ends with the normal person doing their best and actually fixing the life of the damaged person and the damaged person ends up being healed thanks to being in a good environment. Happy endings make me sick sometimes.
I’ve thought about filling job applications today, but I always find an excuse not to do it. Not like anyone would hire someone my age with no experience. That’s just how life is. The weaker you are the more and harder the challenges you have to face. I don’t feel anything. Browsing the net, watching stupid videos, playing online games, reading books and manga, watching anime elicits no feelings from me today. My only joys. I also don’t feel particularly bad right now, so things are slightly below neutral, I would say. That’s good enough for me. There were times I would have prayed to feel this ‘good’.
My mom arrives and I unpack the groceries. This is the first time in while we do more than just greet each other. She starts asking how my day has been and stuff, but I can’t look at her face because she is missing so many teeth. It disgusts me. Although, my right to have such extreme feelings will soon expire once my gum issues lead to teeth falling out. In order to delay the inevitable I sometimes pick out some of the soft tarter with a needle. There’s some satisfaction to be derived from this, much like with popping pimples.
Tonight is bit more chilly than yesterday which is great. I way prefer colder weather, especially since I’m going to bed earlier than usual. It’s barely past 8pm, but I think I’ve had enough of today. Tomorrow is another day. Another chance to do something different, something meaningful, maybe I will do something like that actually.
