Chapter 2 - I'm on a role

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by kklovestoroc

by kklovestoroc

I'm the type of person who wakes up in the middle of the night, goes to their bathroom, cries their soul out into a 4 inch mirror, and tells herself that everything is fine.

Nothing is fine.

The definition of fine is 'of very high quality' and that is not my life right now. My life right now is a sequence of bad events that has lead my life to be the exact opposite of fine.

Nobody is definitively "fine".

Life is programmed to make everybody eventually crash and burn. This is the uncomfortable truth and I cannot stand it.

I'm not fine.

I whisper into the mirror.

I'm not fine.

And following this self-realisation, I stuff my emotions down my throat again and crawl back into bed.

The tennis ball was stupid. I wasn't controlling that thing, the scientists were. Physics were... was... God, I don't know.

It doesn't matter, does it? I know that I did something wrong, so what about it? I don't have to care. Caring in all its misery and emotional burden is a pain, an unnecessary, undying pain - but I still do.

So the antidote to caring is indifference. Self-preservation above everything else. That is one of the ways to being so caring.

The other is just not existing.

Scientists have their experiments, I have mine.

Closing my eyes, I would tell myself that everything was okay. That the world didn't have to exist, that I could be, for once, alone in the vastness of the earth. Alone.

Then I would find myself walking alone along empty stretches of road, unexplainable flickering lights that guide me down a narrow but long path. There were still shops, big billboards that glow in the darkness. The only exception to it was that nobody would be there. A symphony of silence where I could run around, chasing glowing orbs that seemed to grow distant the more you near it, fireflies that I thought were non-existent flying downwards and swooping all around.

And the next morning I was sane enough to walk outside.

That was a long way to say:

"I got back to my room in the apartment, only to find myself crying unexplainably at 1 in the morning."

See? It works.

And this feels unrelated but every time I dream, it seems as if someone else is watching me?

Whatever. I'm sure it's nothing important.

Said nobody ever.

I just want these experiments to be over and done with.