Nobody home

Dear world,


Another heap of cells is slowly dimming away, flickering, for now, through the evergrowing tissue of space and time. I know I won’t be remembered for long after my passing, should you even realize that I’ve gone missing. How much time will have passed by until I’ve faded away, like a distant memory disappearing in the horizon? I guess my presence will linger on, for some time, among the few people that have managed to create a little space in their head for my person, which I admit is cryptic to my self-deprecating self. Rejection time and time again does that to a weakened psyche.

It is an odd thought to me since I seem to be somewhat absent from the living plane, I don’t really allow myself to be accessible to others, as if some sort of dark plague were to be unleashed by doing so; at my darkest moments, I consider myself to be a ghost of my true being, far, very far from the ideal I had set myself to be.


For some, I’ve turned everything upside down with the destructive force of a hurricane, but I know that for most, I’ve just been much too diluted to leave back any kind of stain. It is a strange moment, the one when you start reflecting upon what difference your absolutely minuscule existence has made in the vastness of this multiverse we happen to experience in our, oh, so limited consciousness. The answer to this little thought experiment is that you have accomplished nothing. Nothing at all. Everything will finally turn to dust, with absolutely nothing and no one left to remember any of it. Eventually. The results of our actions, in the end, will simply disintegrate into nothingness. It’s the inevitable course that, what we know as this primitive notion of fate, has in store for us. But humans don’t live on such an immense scale, no, they are obnubilated by their own personal sense of existence, they are blind to the reality that surrounds them. We are all the protagonists of our own vague little lives, placing ourselves above others, simply because it is our perspective that matters the most, since it’s the only one our brains experience. This is the reason why our own problems seem so monumental to us, while others’ problems take so little significance. But humans’ impact is humble, far more than we’d like to admit.


So if I go back to the impact I have left on my own realistically human scale, my ascertainment is in no way more enthusiastic than the previous one. I realize that none of my actions, to my perception at least, which is the only perspective I can assimilate, have been relevant in a positive way. In the end, it lies in my nature to deceive, in one way or another, my environment. The good I’ve done seems to crush under the weight of the bad I’ve done.


These notions of good and bad, I would like to perceive them as they really are, i.e. meaningless inventions of our finite cognition. But as much as I regret this, I’m not a purely rational being, emotions spread throughout my neural network, just like a cancer eating away at my precious rationality. My cold and passive traits are merely façades, hiding away my emotional turmoil. But this cancer hides deep inside of me, impeding my ability to express my inner state. I’m diminished to an emotionally paralyzed zombie, incapable of affection even though all I’m craving for is an emotional connection. I had a shot at this, once, but I believe it to be a one time experience. An experience I’ve entirely sabotaged by myself.


I’m not gonna kill myself. Not this soon at least. No, I know that there might be some kind of turn over in the future, who knows when, even though I can impossibly conceive it right now. But I also know that the chances are small enough to have me doubt them, my personality is simply not prone to facilitating such events.


Clarity is not an easy gift to bear. It’s been torturing me ever since I can remember, and all my flaws seem to always end up defining me. Look at me, 27 years old, and I’m already veiled by the bitterness of experience. Pathetic.

Betrayal, loss of child and friends, abandonment, irreversible mistakes… Despite all my efforts, I remain this tiny boy that is overwhelmed by life, who’s just too weak to withstand the stumbling blocks thrown at him. And yet I take on the role of this laughable christlike figure, absorbing all the darkness I can find. With the only difference that in real life, sacrifice hardly ever solves anything.


This is it. I don’t know how to continue the story. I can’t just write myself a happy ending like I were a character of some dark and twisted fairy tale. This is real life, sometimes, you just run into a dead end, and you lose any chance to go back. Is the process of dehumanization justified? Inevitable?



No more flickering, all I see is black.

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