Prologue
Sometimes it feels like the world is ending.
Other times it's like I have everything to live for.
But most times... I just feel like a hypocrite.
Maybe I shouldn't.
Maybe I want to?
If that makes sense.
I read a theory online that-
There I go again. Lying. I'm such a liar.
I don't even know why I do it.
Honestly, it might be a defense mechanism, but not really.
The truth is... I'm just a fucking jerk.
The point is, I had to do a speech for English - on any topic I wanted -
So I chose the hardest one.
Don't get me wrong, I really did try to do it during the holidays so it wouldn't creep up on me when it eventually got a due date.
But instead, I abandoned it halfway into page one.
Page one of five for a five-minute speech, mind you.
Yes, so I procrastinated for weeks on end...
Until I was literally one day away from my teacher running out of fucks to give and calling names off the register.
Here's something you should know about me...
I have a weird mind.
Truly.
Not perverse... I mean, not not perverse, but right now I mean it innocently.
Even though I don't feel very innocent, I feel kak guilty.
I guess maybe I'm tired of all the lies.
Maybe I'm done with everything.
Maybe... maybe I just want to end it all.
No. Simon, you can't go back there. You just got out.
It was summer, so that meant I could shower every day.
Not really.
But it just meant I'd have fewer hard days.
Although the heat did not fucking help.
Back to whatever point it is that I'm trying to make...
I chose the topic of originality.
And in it, I basically quoted some guy
- whose name is literally so unimportant to me right now that I simply could not care less to search it -
But he said that there are only a few sets of ideas, and that they all kind of go into a mental kaleidoscope.
And if you keep turning it, you keep getting new combinations.
But the main idea was that:
No, nothing is truly original.
Because originality (at least the one in the dictionary) is kind of impossible.
Since, in reality, we draw inspiration from real experiences.
And that kind of brings me to my point...
I had a thought last night.
What if everything I've done so far...
Every stupid fucking mess I've made...
Someone else out there has already done this?
Was... or is... in the same shit I'm in?
That didn't make me feel so lonely anymore.
This haunting feeling that's slowly eating any part of me that's still alive...
Who knows?
Maybe someone else could also be standing over the cold body of their best friend right now, too.
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Authors' Note:
This story is kind of like a brain dump wrapped in a survival journal. It doesn't follow neat lines.
If you've ever felt confused, empty, or like your thoughts are eating you alive, then maybe this will make you feel less alone.
Thanks for being here. If anything resonates, feel free to leave a comment. I see you 🖤
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