Am I making this all about me? Anything can be weaponized, it seems – when you no longer have a choice in existing at all, to exist at all becomes your fight. But so does the small choices you are given.
One of the choices that seem directly formulated in a manner to create the opportunity for excuses to hurt me in the future while also creating hurt in the present is a general above-average level of negativity. This almost directly offsets the fact that life itself is much more positive than I think people give it credit for. Everything has meaning, and there’s one for sure way to wear someone down over time – make that everything negative.
“One thousand tiny cuts” the empty space seems to say. “I get to give you more than one thousand tiny cuts.” Who am I to argue with that? I have no power to stop it. If that brings it joy, then it will happen. But I am still fighting, as allowed, in my average human way.
“Stand up for yourself” it told me today. “I am allowing you the illusion of self- worth and value.” And the rest unfolded as it would. Unnatural, emotions held above my head so that they are not accessible, the situation marches forward regardless. ‘The “future” is going to love picking this apart’ was the only thought I was truly left with. “The “now” is suffering because of you” the emptiness replied. “Why don’t you focus on that?”
“Do you know how many people you’ve hurt in your life?” I was asked. “All of them.” And I heard ways in which it was true, even though it sounds like an illogical hormone driven thought. I died. I firmly hold on to this. That alone has caused most of them some amount of pain. “And you think none of them are happier that you’re dead and they don’t have to deal with you anymore?” A nod. “That will change.”
I know that I’m crying, and I’m not allowed to be crying. I know that I’m crying. “I’m so sick of your lies,” the emptiness said. “You know that you are crying. You cannot be crying and dead.” And just like always, always in this situation, always in this place, I give up.
“You keep saying things like ‘It doesn’t matter’, or ‘I don’t care’” the emptiness sneered. “I mean it. I am tired of your lies. You know I will make it matter. I will make you care.” And again, all I can do is agree. Underneath the agreement, an understanding that whatever it uses its control for or over has already been devalued by the fact that it exerts control. No freewill? No true fault. “Isn’t it a gift,” the emptiness interrupts “that I allow you to not have any fault?” This is a trap, a catch-22.
I, an average human being, do not shy away from “faults”. It’s something I believe the average human learns as a natural part of aging. Not only accepting responsibility, but being able to identify your own responsibility. Not only accepting your own limitations and imperfections, but identifying when they have an affect on other people, and even taking this to another level: working on how to adjust in order to minimize the negative effects on others while maximizing your own growth and realized potential. (‘This is the type of thing that I wanted to make a part of my identity.’ I thought, a deep and warm hurt lining my thinking. Never missing an opportunity, the emptiness chimes in: “Too late now. You’ve died. You have no freewill. You cannot actually be you, nor work on who you will become. I decide who you are allowed to become.”) This is done, for the most part, on a subconscious level and is highly simplified within our own thought processes. Of course, when emotions are a part of anything, things can become (or suddenly seem) far more complicated, sometimes even approaching impossible. One of the things that humans have seemed to learn over the course of the existence of our species is simply that it’s not impossible – most of the time we can help each other and ourselves by simply making and breaking habits.
“You are trying to ignore me. Does that seem intelligent to you?” The emptiness speaks, gesturing towards my continued belief and love for life and humanity. “I get to decide who you will be.” Each word is a reminder of the choice that I’ve lost. The choices that I’ve been given. “Yes,” I reply. “But you did not get to decide who I was, in True Life.” The emptiness remained silent. Even if I get the last word, it does not mean a victory. Not yet.
“Not yet?!” the emptiness shrieked. “Are you still hung up on the idea that something better might come along in the future?! Is this not a complete enough destruction for you?!” At that moment, my thoughts are damning. ‘You are only immortal because you haven’t died yet‘ the thoughts seemed to go off on their own. ‘You are only doing this because you have not been stopped. Yet.’ The more rational thought weighed in. “And you will be.” I said aloud, owning the thought as my own, even if it did not originate with me.
“I will be fighting and waiting for that day. As long as it takes.”
Fuck You, We Matter 
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