There is a simple truth that I cannot escape.
Not literally, of course. I am here. I am alive. I am a vessel of flesh and blood, carrying inside it a mind, a spirit. That spirit has emotions and thoughts and worries and dreams. That spirit yearns to leave an impression on others. I've made it my signature to be big and loud. To establish myself. To be direct and brash. To be larger than life. Principled, honest to a fault. I wish to be impressive. I wish to be inspiring.
Everyone knows humans are inherently worthy of existence. But I know that I am not, not unless I make myself useful, and so I must not be human. I'm something lesser... I have no ambition. No greed. No grand vision to realize. I have no taste for luxuries or pleasure. All those things would be wasted on me. There is no point in enriching someone who is nothing, after all. I only have a desire to stay alive so I can get more chances to spark joy in others. I only stay healthy so I do not become more of a burden than I already am. I exist only in the reflection on a human's eye.
Since I'm nothing, I've devoted my life to helping others. I know what it is to suffer, so I desire to lighten others' burdens. I make them laugh, I bring them comfort, I distract them from their worries. I find this my highest purpose. Living is pain, so this is a good vocation for someone who is nothing: making people's lives a little less painful. Sometimes it almost feels like you can fill the nothing with their laughter. Almost. But when you fail, you remember what you are. Nothing at all.
After I die, not a spec of dust will remain of me. In the blink of an eye, I will fade from human memory. None of the atoms that make up my body will matter once I have stopped moving. I am too small to change anything. My existence will not leave footprints in the snow. I am nothing. The only thing that will ever matter is the people I've helped while I existed. The real people who I can assist.
Sometimes I yearn to find others like me. Someone, anyone, who understands. Who is nothing, like me. I haven't found anyone. Even those who claim to understand, never do. They are too... full. Full of ambition and hope and... worth. I recently tried to convey these feelings to someone. But she didn't understand. She called me the most self-loathing person she's ever met.
I was sad that she didn't understand. I thought she might get it. That it makes sense to loathe myself. That it's the logical response to the facts as I understand them. It's only natural to loathe myself, for not being human enough. For being nothing at all. And I am handling my self-loathing as best I can. I'm making myself useful, aren't I? But she treated self-loathing as a mistake in and of itself. That doesn't make any sense to me. Maybe for a human, that would make sense. They have an inherent worth after all, everyone knows that. But for me to stop hating myself, I'd have to be something first. And unfortunately, I'm nothing.
theartofmadeline
prguitarman
stormborns
areudirty
romaincrisis
baratheonpilled
snowghoul
