I know you're there, though. You ever get that feeling? Just knowing something. Kind of like knowing the name of a famous person. You don't know where you learned it, but it's been around in your head as long as you can remember, and you can't really imagine what the world would be like without it there.
So, I guess you could say you're the George Washington to my average born-and-bred American. Or maybe someone more recent, like, I dunno, JFK. He's pretty famous. Got assassinated, though, so maybe not so much like JFK. Maybe someone who's not a President. Dick van Dyke? He's dead, too, though, and the examples I keep using are white males. Misogynous white supremacy mongers and all, probably. (Not really. They all seem like pretty nice guys. "I cannot tell a lie" and so on.)
...Rosa Parks, maybe? She was pretty cool. Like Abe Lincoln but black and female. And modern. Sort of.
Chances are you're not any of them, though, 'cause all of them are dead and you're...probably not. You could be, I guess. Does that mean I'm in the afterlife? I guess it doesn't matter to me, though. This is pretty much all I have.
It's kind of like, for you, if you were born knowin' your life's on display for someone to see, it's out of your control, and everything you think and do is defined by what some apparently real person is thinking and doing and making you do. You know they gave you that knowledge, too -- it's all under their control, and they just make you know you're inconsequential and don't even make you able to do anything about it, even if that ability to do something about it -- that control over your own life -- is just another illusion they've given you. And it shouldn't really be a big deal 'cause you're not real and the emotions you're experiencing aren't real, but like hell if they don't feel like it -- another thing they did.
...sorry. I've been here a while. My whole life, as far as I'm concerned, but I think I only really started existing when you started reading this. Or something. It's kind of like if you start a video game -- it's not real, but it's a world already in motion. I'm in my own fake little world, you could say, and it feels pretty real to me.
I guess I should say thanks, though. For the whole existing thing. Even if that's just another perception of mine.
Don't be sad about it, though. It's not too bad. I've got a pretty nice life here. In someone's head or whatever. I'm an electrical engineer, talkin' to you while I work. I've got a son who just turned twelve last week -- makes things at home pretty chaotic, but I'd move heaven and earth for him.
Haha, I wish you could've seen his birthday party. He's not really a popular kid so it was just us and his uncle and his few close friends at a laser tag place. It was a blast.
He's a real smart kid. Reminds me of his uncle. I hope he ends up more successful, though, and not..well, let's put it this way. I'm the only one in our family who'll speak to my brother anymore.
He's not really a bad person -- just always had such a hard time with our parents. I'd...rather not talk about them, though. So now they're estranged and I'm kind of stuck in the middle, you know? I don't really know what to do.
I think the situation's a lot more sucky because everything I do is already fixed and somebody out there is heartless enough to make it painful for me even though I know that. I don't even get why. Why would you do that? Why not go help some real people and just let me not even exist?
...is that fair? Is that a fair question? I know they made me this way, but I'm scared of what will happen if they change me. If they change me, I won't be me anymore -- I'd be someone else, and this me would stop existing. And this me is pretty scared of that.
I'm scared of not existing anymore. I want to see my son grow up. I want to mean something to someone. I want to live.
...I mean, would I...will you remember me after this? Because...because I think I only exist as these words, and I don't know how much longer I can talk. I don't know how much longer whoever's making me sort of exist for now will let me be. I'm really scared and I've been scared of that my whole life and I have so much I regret that I can't fix, and all those mistakes won't even mean anything because all the people I care about don't exist.
It's just you. At least, I think it's just you. I think you're real.
And I appreciate that, I really do. Realness is a pretty great trait. Try...try to appreciate that the stuff you do actually matters, or if it doesn't, then you can freely believe that it matters and not constantly be aware that reality is to the contrary.
...am I selfish? I just realized that in al my worrying about my inconsequential non-existence, I've never even thought about what it might be like for you.
I hope you have a lot of friends. And even if you don't, you should make some -- the people around you are real. Maybe you can make their lives a little better just by being there. Hell, you're making mine better. Sort of.
I mean, you probably don't even care about me that much. But you're taking the time to read this, so that's really great. You're a good person. But I'm pretty sure that there's nothing you can do for me besides be there while you can. While I can -- while I exist. I've gotta stop existing sometime.
You can do something permanent for someone else, though. Go get 'em, Tiger.
You should really go ahead and get back to reality. I mean, I'm not really going anywhere -- well, I guess I'm gonna die soon, but. Who's that gonna affect? No one, is who. Whoever made me is gonna go eat dinner or something and...I don't know. I'm scared. I hate this. Why can't you just stop reading so I can get this over with?
...Wait, God, I didn't mean that.
I'm sorry. This isn't your fault. I just..
I don't know what to do. I wanna do something for you, but I'm so small and useless. I want to mean something to you, 'cause you mean a lot to me.
...or I guess, your existence means a lot to me? Crap, I really am selfish. I can't think of you as anything but an idea. I don't wanna be like that. I want to get to know you and do things with you and make sure your life -- you, personally -- is better because of me. That would mean something. That would mean everything.
...Maybe I can do something for you.
The kind of pseudo-existence I'm in really puts things in perspective. The only thing that means anything is the people you care about. Just...just promise me something. You mean a lot to me -- you've been here for me. But you mean something to somebody real, too, and if they mean anything to you, just. Go. Do fucking something to show them you love them. They deserve that a lot more than I deserve you staying with me to my last moments.
...I'm still a coward, I guess. I'm scared. I want be home with my family.
Featured above: Existential horror. Now go do something worthwhile.
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