Sometimes I wonder, though. If there was a noose and a low hanging branch, would I? Would I end everything? Or would I remain hopeful, clinging desperately? I can’t help but wonder these things. My mind has nothing to keep these thoughts from entering. No shield, no obstacle, no moat. Nothing. It’s not the first time I’ve been completely alone, though. I’ve been alone before. I’m an only child, raised by two working parents and a working television. The neighbor kids didn’t like me. During hide and seek, I’d stay hidden for hours in undiscovered areas of the block. Eventually, the other kids would all be called home for dinner and I’d still be there, hiding, waiting. My parents never really ate dinner together. Like I said, they both worked, so after a long day on the job, neither wanted to cook. They sometimes ordered pizza or Chinese food. Whatever it took to keep them sustained. It was always eaten in front of the television or while my mother read a book. All her books had Soy Sauce stains all over them. And when I went off to college, without the social precedents most teenagers receive from their peers, I became awkward. The odd man out, so to speak. I received amazing marks, on account of all the studying I did when I wanted to be partying. I met a girl, towards the end of my Junior year, but she just sort of didn’t pan out and I was left with an even worse feeling of loneliness than I’d ever had before. In many ways, it’s comparable to this hole. I didn’t think I’d survive. I debated suicide. Not really seriously, though. I just sort of mulled it over in my mind. Thought of who would attend my funeral. What sort of strange group dynamics would go on there. I do that in this hole a lot. I think about what will happen when they find me. Find my carcass. Am I my carcass? It’s all that will be left. I’m sure I’ll be eroded by then. Most of my skin will have rotted and blistered out. They’ll have to look up my dental records. I’m sure my parents have already signed the release for those. That must have broken my mother’s heart. God, that must have stung. I wonder if they now feel as alone as I do, my parents. I wonder if they can’t sleep. If the newscasters pronounce my name correctly. If I’m even on newscasts. How many people go missing all the time? I doubt I’m cared about by anyone aside from the few people who saw me on a regular basis. Jesus, that’s disheartening. I’m not even a footnote, not even an inch-wide paragraph in the newspaper. I’d love to stop thinking about these things, but I can’t. I suppose an idle mind is the devil’s workshop or something. It’s so lonely and miserable and I try to cling to hope, but my mind immediately races back to reality. I am in a hole and no one will find me. The first two days of being here, I kept reliving the fall in my mind. I thought of all the things I could have done to prevent it. I did some things right. I landed right. I tried to tell myself that I landed right and I was alive and I would be okay, but I couldn’t quite convince myself. And by the third day, I realized there was nothing I could do to change the past, so I might as well think about more pleasant things. I try to think about all the times I was happy in my life. Christmases and weddings and birthday parties. The time I got drunk with my boss. The time I crashed my mother’s car— It’s strange. Some of the things you feared and regretted at the time somehow slowly become your fondest memories. Sometimes I play free association games. I’ll start with a person’s name or something and jump around based on what it reminds me of. Last night I started with Morgan Freeman, which made me think of Abraham Lincoln which made me think of Henry Ford which made me think of Aldous Huxley which made me think of Bill Cosby, who is a black actor, just like Morgan Freeman. I try to circle back to the original person if I can. It helps make things seem more complete. When you’re staring death in the face, everything needs to be completed because nothing can ever, ever, ever be redressed. |