All I Have is Fiction

I wanted to write something about the season finale of Game of Thrones tonight.  So much happened.  Shit’s going down in a big way.  But as the final credits rolled, and I felt all the emotion about everything that’s happened, I realized something – my life is so completely empty.  The most that I have to have emotions about is an episode of a fictional television show.  That’s it.  Everything else is just window dressing, on a completely empty life.  And now, I think that it’s too late.  For the first time, I realize that I’ve gone down a path that there may be no return from, and very quietly, I despair.

For years, I have tried to be a good friend.  A good boyfriend.  A good person.  What has it got me?  Nothing.  Nothing at all.  It’s got me a little apartment, just across the street from the college I got out of.  I’ve worked so hard to move forward, yet I’m still here.  Tomorrow, I go to a job that doesn’t make me happy, only to help try and pay bills that I so desperately have to pay.  I’m on my own tomorrow.  Here’s hoping that the training paid off.  If not, then I might just be fucked.  What do I come home to?  An empty fridge.  An empty home.  There’s my chair, and my TV, and my really cool glitter lamp.  For real, this thing is really neat.  This is my life.

My social life has devolved into nothing.  I do have one friend who has come back into my life.  She’s a ray of sunshine in a gray, dead landscape that is my mind.  Pretty much everyone else has left.  Quite a lot of that is my own fault.  I devoted myself in a way that I shouldn’t have.  I believed that it was possible to revive dead things.  Everyone has gone in their own directions.  They are getting married, having kids, all that.  People like me don’t have a place in that kind of life.  It’s too much work to be my friend, I guess.

I tell people that I’m learning to enjoy the simple things.  My new glitter lamp.  Good stories like the game I am obsessed with, Life is Strange.  But it’s a lie.  A smokescreen.  Something I put up as a front, thinking that maybe I might come to believe it.  I don’t think I will, though.  The truth is, I don’t know how I do.  See, Death is my constant companion.  It has been following me for a long time.  I see it, every time I look in the mirror.  It’s why I like to keep my world dark.  If I see things in the light, that creature is there, waiting for me.  It’s been waiting for me for over ten years.  Ever since my head injury, it waits.  But I keep going.

Am I strong?  Is it strength to push forward, even when you don’t even know why you do it?  When the idea of not fighting against Death is a constant companion, yet you don’t.  When you press forward, even in the very worst of circumstances.  Is that strength?  I have absolutely no idea.  Maybe it’s weakness.  You all tell me.  Yeah, you all, people not remotely connected to any of this, tell me what it is.  Is it strength of weakness to keep going, when everything is fighting against you.  I suddenly understand how Jorah feels, every time he looks at his arm.  Seeing the progression of the gray-scale.  It must be heart-breaking.  To know that your time is coming to an end, and all you can do is watch it happen. There may come a day when Death’s offer becomes too tempting, but for today, I take Syrio Fyrel’s advice.  What’s that?  I’ll close off this post with it.

The truth is, fiction is all I have.  My life is so void of emotional connection that I pretty much feel like I am waiting to die.  But I’m not.  I’m moving forward.  I go to that job, even though I get no joy there.  I go to sleep each night, and then wake up again.  Every time that happens, it should feel like a victory.  But it doesn’t.  It feels like just another day.  In fiction, I have other worlds that I get to peer into.  Worlds where I am not an emotionally-decaying wreck.  No idea why I am telling you all this.  Maybe I just need to get it out there.  The truth is, I don’t know if what I’ve done is worth anything . Was being a good friend worth it?  Was being a good boyfriend worth it?  Was being a good person worth it?  They say that being a good person isn’t something you actively think about.  They say it’s like being a nerd  How people who are actually nerds don’t call themselves that or have to say it out loud.  I disagree.

Being a good person takes work.  Because it isn’t that you are good all the way down.  No.  You still are a person.  You still get angry and bitter and sad.  You will want to hurt people who’ve done you wrong.  The difference is that a good person doesn’t act on it.  A good person doesn’t give into their worse nature.  It’s something you actively have to work at.  I’m with Captain Nemo on this one – goodness must be forever growing.  It must have strength.  That’s not to say that you have weak moments.  Sometimes, you do.  But you still work to be better. A good person isn’t some kind of Mary Sue or Johnny Sue.  It’s someone who has that voice in their head telling them to do bad things, but chooses to ignore it, so they can be the kind of person that they want to be.  It’s hard.  It’s an active force.

There isn’t really karma.  I know that. Deep down, though, I still want to believe that all the things I have worked to do will pay off, in some way. I’m sure that they won’t.  But I keep going, and thinking that maybe they will.  I guess we’ll see.

Until next time, a quote,

“The only real god is Death.  And do you know what we tell Death?  Not today!”  -Syrio Fyrel

Peace out,

Maverick

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