war

 

I have been told that if this world had to face a nuclear war that the only survivors would be cockroaches and me. I spent a great deal of time trying to understand that statement. My first reaction was that I didn't really care for being compared to a cockroach. What were they getting at anyway? Was I a disgusting pestilence on society? Some Filthy insect that invaded every space that belonged to someone else? This is how my paranoia so greatly twists everything that anyone says into disturbing life truths. Finally, out of desperation and fear that I would lose my mind, I asked the one who made the statement what the meaning behind it was.

He responded by telling me that he felt I was the only human he knew that could survive anything and continue on. I am terrified that he may be correct. I pray that he isn't. If what he says is true, I will have to continue on in life, wishing I had never been forced to participate in it to begin with, for a torturous eternity.

 

 

I can't remember what happiness feels like. I realized this some time ago, but failed to see what I was missing by my forgetfulness. I am still not sure that the full realization of that epiphany has hit me. It may be that at this point, happiness has become such an unknown to me that in order to seek it I would have to release my fear of the unknown. That, as deep as my emptiness is and as dark as my loneliness runs, I prefer the known to what may be. It could also be that I am simply too tired to make a change, or, that I don't posses the skills necessary to do so. Maybe I am simply complacent. Regardless, this is where I sit. Surrounded by people and never more alone, void of any ability to feel any positive emotion. Everything I have left begins and ends in despair.

 

 

I have, at times, contemplated a way out of this hole of darkness that I am submerged in. That is when my cowardice rears its ugly face. I think I should just run, but have nowhere to run to that would really be different from the place I already occupy. So I stay. Suicide? I have considered it more times than am able to tally. I've heard many people call suicide an act of cowardice. They could not be more wrong. It takes great strength to commit suicide. To be willing to risk screwing it up and spending the rest of your life dependant on someone else to remove the feces from your clothing is not something a coward would choose. I know because I am a coward. And the most effective methods are all so physically painful. Once again, my cowardice showing through. Emotional pain is almost like a friend I have forgotten how to live without, but physical pain is still my enemy.

Reviews

[Robert Parlange]

Suicide is an irrational act. It's like burning down the barn to get rid of the rats. Only in this case the “rats” are the feelings of pain. But the pain won't go away. Suicides leave the pain with others who have to survive. Am I rambling? Sorry it's late.

[J D Roland]

What an absolutely compelling piece of work. You carry us to the depths of despair with a finely tuned pen.