There is a gap between my dreams and my actions. It gets wider day by day. At night, I dream of being strong. Of the little daily growths that would have me a piano virtuoso, a power lifter, a consumate singer, a genius cook, etc (you get the picture). In the afternoons (for I am not awake for the mornings), I stand on the seaside and watch those ships sail away, the ocean spraying lightly over their bows as they head out to sea. I am calm. No–I am distracted. Am I watching the ships, or am I on my phone? It’s so hard to tell, these days. In that rectange box, they tell me: I’m bad. I corrupt the youth. I’ll never be good enough. I’m everything that’s wrong with society. I should die. They’re coming for me. I should be trying harder. It’s my fault, somehow. If I’m stressed I’m failing. I should meditate more. I should just be calm. i’m disgusting. i should just be okay. by the way death is coming, but you can avoid thinking about it if you read this other article. look, a cute cat! (eh) look at this robot balancing three sticks (wow!). look at your friends having children. look at other people being happy. are you happy? well, you don’t have to think about it right now. have some candy. here’s more candy. here’s someone saying they’re going to kill you. here’s some more candy–
…
It’s dark out. Another day’s been laid to waste. Shameful. Shame shame shame. Aah okay, stop. Let’s eat some food. Let’s drink some water. Let’s yearn to be on a boat. Are they even real? I wonder again why I can’t ask the captain for a ticket. I mean, he’s right there (during the afternoon, anyway). I’m sure he’d give me one if I asked. But I can’t. Curl curl curl curl. Hide hide hide. Stick my head in my stomach and out the other side.
I spend some time with friends. It’s nice. My life stays the same.
…
I never wish I was dead. I do wish things were less hard sometimes, though. Back in my egotistical days, I used to imagine that this was “me” (accomplished, highly intelligent, wealthy, immortal) running an ancestor simulation. A challenge run, if you will. “How hard could my life have been for me to still get where I was today?”, I’d ask, and fire up the supercomputer (or shell into the cloud simulator, or whatever). Of course, in these imaginings, I always assumed that I’d succeed. Now, I imagine “future me” looking back and shaking “future me”’s head sadly: “Oof, looks like that one was too hard. Looks like I’m not going to make it. That’s kind of uncomfortable – I always thought I’d succeed regardless of the challange.” Then I’d delete this reality and pretend I never saw it. (“Future me” is in denial.)
What life is there, on shore? It’s easy for me to call myself names. “Pudgy”, “boring”, “broken”. Sometimes I crack the whip, but the horse isn’t afraid anymore – not of that, anyway. What more is here? Are there things to explore, inland? What is this island that I’m on? (I wonder if there’s an airport, but that’s a dangerous thought.)
Will I be telling this with a sigh, somewhere ages and ages hence? So many paths diverged, and I, well… in the fell clutch of circumstance, I’ve both winced and cried aloud from this epidemic that swarms beyond my outer walls.