Tales From Heller

What We Leave Behind

CW: Non-graphic attempted suicide

Day 62:

So since my last major update, let's see what I've tried to get myself out of this mess. I've seen a lot more movies with Madeline, and I've been keeping a list to make sure that I don't repeat any, but beyond making me wonder if it's actually possible to get tired of cuddling, that hasn't as of yet fixed anything. I was going to take a flight somewhere, but as an unaccompanied minor the airports aren't big on that, meaning I had to settle for the next best thing, taking a Greyhound to LA. I was hoping to wake up somewhere else, but as soon as the clock hit midnight, there I was again. Staying up at home didn't work: well, staying awake was easy, but it didn't work. It felt like I was being woken from a dream, when for a second you reached out desperately looking for that power or happiness you had abandoned. Things are always nicer in dreams than in reality. Dropping the toaster in my bathtub was remarkably painful, and something I never wish to experience again, but that too didn't save me, and all other attempts at injuring myself proved healed the next day. One day I brought a kitchen knife to school, hoping to slit Frank's throat, but even though I think I found the right opportunity I haven't been able to work up the courage yet. I'm not that desperate yet, and I'd still think I'd live with it for the rest of my life even if I could wake up the next day unscathed.

So it's back to the drawing board. Maybe Mr. T will have some ideas.

Day 63:

"You've only been stuck in this loop for two months? Those are rookie numbers. Come back after a year or two and we can talk," Mr. T chided, not entirely seriously but still just enough to make me wince.

"But if I have a choice in the matter, surely there's something I can do about it. I've tried everything Phil did in the movie, except for stealing a groundhog. I couldn't find any."

"I'm sure I've told you this before, but it's about accepting your fate. And finding a way to live with it. Not resignation, like you're feeling right now. Acceptance, like the stages of grief. Learn some more piano pieces to pass the time or something."

"Acceptance hasn't worked for two months."

"You're being impatient. How do you think I felt this morning when you asked me to help out in your prank, knowing that even if I don't remember it, I'm just playing a role?"

"Sad, resigned?"

"No, I accepted that if I don't help you out, then I'm going to have to do this all over again, and also that since I have no control, I may as well enjoy it. We're Sisyphus pushing the boulder up the mountain: Sisyphus wasn't happy or anything, but after pushing a boulder for so long you learn to find it meditative."

"I guess you're right."

Day 84:

"Well, I've learned all the good Chopin waltzes decently well," I said to Mr. T. "I have a simple routine: I sweet-talk Madeline enough where she invites herself over, I play a piece, she says I'm awesome, then we watch a movie together. You're right: this feels rewarding. Any other suggestions?"

Mr. T laughed, a resonant, hearty laugh like he always had when I told him about my adventures. I wasn't sure if it was because he truly found me funny or if this was his way of accepting his place in the universe. "You should try writing a novel. You have the time. There's this great article about how a philosopher is defined by the time they have, that I remember Frank mentioning—"

"Critchley, right? We had to read that in my philosophy class at community college."

"You two are on the same wavelength and it's really interesting, like these are some wild coincidences you've mentioned. But I think you should try writing a novel—or even if not that, something. To keep track of your experiences."