CaptainWacky
I want to smell dark matter
actually there's nothing special about it at all!
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He was a Nihilist, he supposed. He'd never actually read about Nihilism, not until recently, so he hadn't know. He was never much interested in philosophy. He had his own, internal and constantly changing philosophy, rarely shared, of course, but other people's philosophy? What was the point? Why read about someone else's beliefs? He figured that if he did that, he'd end up modelling himself around those beliefs. He'd change himself subconsciously to fit whatever he was supposed to believe in. He did not like that idea. It repelled him. Freedom, he believed, was believing in nothing.
But he was definitely pretty close to being a Nihilist.
He didn't want to be. He didn't want everything to be pointless. He did want to experience no joy in life. But that was just how things were now. There was no going back, he knew that. He'd seen too much...no, he'd thought too much. Looked too deeply at reality, delved too far into his own mind. He'd realised certain truths that he could never foget. The genie was out of the bottle and it couldn't be put back in. There was no going back.
He tried, he really did. Watched his favourite tv shows, listened beautiful pieces of music, read books people told him he would like...but there was nothing. Nothing but an overwhelming feeling of pointlessness and, well, smallness to it all. None of it mattered! It was all just so stupid, such a waste of time. HE WAS JUST GOING TO DIE.
There was no going back, he realised it suddenly, truly, not just repeating it in his head as a mantra but actually FEELING IT, felt himself sweat. Good, at least he felt something, he hadn't gotten this worked up in a long time. He was excited.
He could kill himself right now.
But what would be the point?
He wondered, if there were other people like him. People got depressed, sure. But they all seemed to be depressed over HUMAN things. They never seemed to be as disconnected as him, because some of them got over it and managed to go back to doing all the old pointless things and enjoying them again. He could never do that, NEVER, not with all he knew. Surely there must be more like him? Why, of course there were. The kind of people who kill themselves.
But he didn't want to do that. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because he didn't really feel pain, generally. Life was miserable, but it wasn't painful. It was grey. Flat. Barely any different from being dead, he thought.
Kill someone else then, he mused? No, what would be the point. He figured that maybe killers could have similar minds to his. Perhaps he had the mind of a killer himself, all but the part that made him want to kill other people. What would be the point.
WHAT WOULD BE THE POINT?
He sat down at the computer.
The only thing worth doing would be to change reality somehow, so that THIS wasn't life, so that there wasn an alternative. He would become a quantum physicist. That was it. He looked up quantum physics on Wikipedia.
Okay, that wasn't for him either.
He span around on his chair. It was as worthwhile as anything else. He had tried to stop himself going online, back to the message board he obsessively posted at. But why was he stopping himself? He wasn't doing anything worthwhile with this new spare time. He was just spinning. May as well, heh, "enjoy" himself if he wasn't going to kill himself...
He felt physical pain in his body as he reached for the keyboard. Not good. Was it all in his mind? There was a pain in the left side of his chest. Maybe he'd have a heart attack. Maybe he'd die any moment. People died all the time, why not him!
He remembered, about a year ago, lying in bed convinced he was going to die. He'd stayed up all night. And he'd still been alive in the morning.
No, knowing his luck, he'd live another sixty years.
He heard the door opening. His wife was home.
It was funny how he didn't even think about her anymore. He had at first, when he'd first been diagnosed with depression, all those years ago, when he though there was still hope, when he though he might be able to go back to being human. He had thought maybe she would be his salvation. But she'd never really understood how he felt, no matter how many times he'd explain. She'd been supportive, up to a point. But eventually, she'd just given up and left him to his own devices. They hadn't fought, they stayed married. But they weren't partners anymore, in anything other than the legal sense of the word.
He looked up at her. For a moment, he didn't recognise her. He rarely looked at her face. She could have been anyone. An alien. A surge of fear went through him. Who was she? How had they ever gotten married? She was so alive, so vivacious...so drunk She went out, nearly every night, with "friends" from work. He knew she was having an affair, of course. He didn't care.
"Hi," he said.
"Hello dear!" she said, smiling. "You okay?"
"Yeah," he lied.
"Good...good...you like it, don't you? The internet."
"Yeah," he lied.
"Good...you're good...you'll be fine...just keep fighting it...I have to lie down." And that was it, the only time they'd talked all day. Her obligation to him had been carried out. Now she could go on with her normal life, safe in the knowledge that she'd done all she could to help him. And he didn't grudge her it. He was fine with it. He didn't even feel the desire to murder her! He was so soft. He smiled to himself. He was actually satisified in knowing that she'd never understand him.
He browsed over to his message board.
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filler text
_____________________________
He was a Nihilist, he supposed. He'd never actually read about Nihilism, not until recently, so he hadn't know. He was never much interested in philosophy. He had his own, internal and constantly changing philosophy, rarely shared, of course, but other people's philosophy? What was the point? Why read about someone else's beliefs? He figured that if he did that, he'd end up modelling himself around those beliefs. He'd change himself subconsciously to fit whatever he was supposed to believe in. He did not like that idea. It repelled him. Freedom, he believed, was believing in nothing.
But he was definitely pretty close to being a Nihilist.
He didn't want to be. He didn't want everything to be pointless. He did want to experience no joy in life. But that was just how things were now. There was no going back, he knew that. He'd seen too much...no, he'd thought too much. Looked too deeply at reality, delved too far into his own mind. He'd realised certain truths that he could never foget. The genie was out of the bottle and it couldn't be put back in. There was no going back.
He tried, he really did. Watched his favourite tv shows, listened beautiful pieces of music, read books people told him he would like...but there was nothing. Nothing but an overwhelming feeling of pointlessness and, well, smallness to it all. None of it mattered! It was all just so stupid, such a waste of time. HE WAS JUST GOING TO DIE.
There was no going back, he realised it suddenly, truly, not just repeating it in his head as a mantra but actually FEELING IT, felt himself sweat. Good, at least he felt something, he hadn't gotten this worked up in a long time. He was excited.
He could kill himself right now.
But what would be the point?
He wondered, if there were other people like him. People got depressed, sure. But they all seemed to be depressed over HUMAN things. They never seemed to be as disconnected as him, because some of them got over it and managed to go back to doing all the old pointless things and enjoying them again. He could never do that, NEVER, not with all he knew. Surely there must be more like him? Why, of course there were. The kind of people who kill themselves.
But he didn't want to do that. He wasn't sure why. Maybe it was because he didn't really feel pain, generally. Life was miserable, but it wasn't painful. It was grey. Flat. Barely any different from being dead, he thought.
Kill someone else then, he mused? No, what would be the point. He figured that maybe killers could have similar minds to his. Perhaps he had the mind of a killer himself, all but the part that made him want to kill other people. What would be the point.
WHAT WOULD BE THE POINT?
He sat down at the computer.
The only thing worth doing would be to change reality somehow, so that THIS wasn't life, so that there wasn an alternative. He would become a quantum physicist. That was it. He looked up quantum physics on Wikipedia.
Okay, that wasn't for him either.
He span around on his chair. It was as worthwhile as anything else. He had tried to stop himself going online, back to the message board he obsessively posted at. But why was he stopping himself? He wasn't doing anything worthwhile with this new spare time. He was just spinning. May as well, heh, "enjoy" himself if he wasn't going to kill himself...
He felt physical pain in his body as he reached for the keyboard. Not good. Was it all in his mind? There was a pain in the left side of his chest. Maybe he'd have a heart attack. Maybe he'd die any moment. People died all the time, why not him!
He remembered, about a year ago, lying in bed convinced he was going to die. He'd stayed up all night. And he'd still been alive in the morning.
No, knowing his luck, he'd live another sixty years.
He heard the door opening. His wife was home.
It was funny how he didn't even think about her anymore. He had at first, when he'd first been diagnosed with depression, all those years ago, when he though there was still hope, when he though he might be able to go back to being human. He had thought maybe she would be his salvation. But she'd never really understood how he felt, no matter how many times he'd explain. She'd been supportive, up to a point. But eventually, she'd just given up and left him to his own devices. They hadn't fought, they stayed married. But they weren't partners anymore, in anything other than the legal sense of the word.
He looked up at her. For a moment, he didn't recognise her. He rarely looked at her face. She could have been anyone. An alien. A surge of fear went through him. Who was she? How had they ever gotten married? She was so alive, so vivacious...so drunk She went out, nearly every night, with "friends" from work. He knew she was having an affair, of course. He didn't care.
"Hi," he said.
"Hello dear!" she said, smiling. "You okay?"
"Yeah," he lied.
"Good...good...you like it, don't you? The internet."
"Yeah," he lied.
"Good...you're good...you'll be fine...just keep fighting it...I have to lie down." And that was it, the only time they'd talked all day. Her obligation to him had been carried out. Now she could go on with her normal life, safe in the knowledge that she'd done all she could to help him. And he didn't grudge her it. He was fine with it. He didn't even feel the desire to murder her! He was so soft. He smiled to himself. He was actually satisified in knowing that she'd never understand him.
He browsed over to his message board.
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filler text