Deathly Love

You love life more than death. But sometimes the prospect of nothingness seems far more attractive than a meaningless, loveless life.

Sometimes you get to talking to someone for so long that to imagine your life without them seems impossible. It doesn’t matter if everything they say is meant to discourage or disparage you. Sooner, you accept what they say as the “truth”. Later, you learn to rebel against them. You learn to laugh with them, no matter what they say. You can’t very well tell them to leave you alone, because you don’t truly want them to nor would they even consider it. All of the thoughts that would break down weaker men and women you endure. In a perverted way or two, they teach how to appreciate beauty in the ugliest things. But every day you live a little, you die a little. Every day that you give a bit to survive, something is taken from you. Some days are better than others, but everyday is a struggle.

Because they are always there. Your so-called “friends”; demons disguised as caregivers. In your loneliness you could not find any positive companionship, so you attached yourself to ignoble beings. You could not find encouragement from the normal people, so you sought refuge with demons; they who are always in your mind, they who are always with you. You cannot fathom an existence without them. And soon, very soon, you begin think to yourself that the only way to remove these souls from your life is to remove yourself from it. You think it’s what they want. Maybe they do want you to do it. After all, they do give you the ostensive appearance that death is more favorable than life, which is simply absurd.

And at first, I tried to befriend them. In the darkness, they whispered to me; from the most arcane corners of my mind, they called to me. Worthless, they hissed, you are worthless. I would lie awake and listen, day after wearying day, night after sleepless night. I had no choice. But was there hope? For when I thought I had reached that low point, that point of no return, she came to me, with a pretty face, an easy smile, and an icy heart. In my utter loneliness, I embraced her with both arms and all my soul. She seemed to return love in equal measure. I thought I had finally found companionship. But she turned out worse than the others. Every moment of free thought I dedicated, unhealthily, to her. My angel, my demon! She was never far from my side. Every negative thought of her – of loneliness, alienation, depression – I began to cherish. I became so deluded as to believe she actually cared about me. Finally, one warm autumn night, she tried to kill me. And I almost let her. What is it they say: that the thing you love will destroy you?

In her failure, my life paused a moment. Would I have the strength to endure this? It seemed that I did. But when I awoke, my “friends” were back. They laughed at me. How could I be so stupid to fall in love with that? Ugly, they roared, that’s why she left you. Friends: there are no better mirrors. So I laughed back. Worthless, they hissed again, you are worthless. But if I am so worthless, I argued, how much value could your existences have, that you have to hound me day and night, that you can never spend more than ten seconds apart from me? I am you, and you are me. You are there, just as surely if I were to look into the mirror, you are there, always. You are there, just as surely as I think you are. If I am worthless, you must also be.

And with that, the worthless beings skulked back into the darkness. They’ve not gone. They often talk to me, and I, in good humor, always talk back. We have good arguments. Once in awhile, they almost get the better of me. Almost. As for her, I still think about her. She is never far from my side, after all. Those who have ever held power over you are those from whom you can seldom free yourself completely. Sometimes the thought of her overcomes me. But I have now learned to laugh at the whole experience, and it does not hurt so much. Still, I often think what my life would be with her, and it’s impossible to even imagine, for it would be nothingness.

Can you even imagine nothingness?

(Note: Just a little practice.)

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