I miss my chosen family. That’s one of the worst parts about this reality: I am separated from all life that I knew before, and even though there are humans here that are, for lack of better understanding, recreated from the life that I knew, I am seperated even from them. Though I still feel their care and love despite the circumstances, I can’t tell if it belongs to anyone in this reality in truth.
I refuse to believe that they have abandoned me, but a lot of that rides on the knowledge that there is no way they ever would have in True Life. I don’t actually have abandonment issues, despite not being wanted by my parents – in life, I earned my chosen family, and formed stronger bonds than blood could have ever awarded. And I miss them. I don’t really know what they are all doing in this world, but as always, I sincerely hope for their happiness above all else.
And, every once in a while, it still feels like they are coming for me – to save me, to shelter me, to welcome me back into a place of love and warmth. These moments always feel helpless, as I continue to wait, as I continue to sit in a pool of judgement, never believing I’m too far gone to be saved. I’ll keep waiting, even if the people of this world have chosen to abandon me. I’ll keep waiting, finding things to be grateful for, never really belonging.
I am grateful, that the people of this world have each other. At the end of the day, even if they get caught up in my own personal experience, they get to go home and be themselves, and find comfort and love within one another. It’s one of the things that prove evil intent to me – there is no real reason to isolate individual deceased human souls, save for selfishness and ego. And, to force them on worlds that don’t even want them there… evil on both ends.
I am sorry, that I died. I am even more sorry that my death is the catalyst of so much pain and suffering. I know being sorry doesn’t fix the problem, but it’s all I can offer. I will keep fighting, until the greater evil is vanquished.
You may not be my original cat, but you are my cat all the same. And you are missed.
They are toying with me once again, promises of happiness floating around my head. The feeling of hope is accompanied, as always, by the feeling of being stupid.
WHAT DID YOU LEARN FROM THE FIRST CHAPTER OF OUR STORY? YOU WAITED. YOU WAITED THROUGH FEAR, THROUGH EXTREME POVERTY, THROUGH PROMISES. HE NEVER CAME. NO ONE WILL SAVE YOU.
That wasn’t entirely true, though. He never left. And, as long as I exist, salvation is never truly off the table.
Of course, the good feelings may just be sent as a coverup of the increasing frustration and disappointment I have for my housemates. I’m not supposed to be allowed to be disappointed, as I am not the judge. As I said before, though, my opinions both don’t matter and matter quite a bit in this reality. And, I’m quite disappointed in very reasonable things to be disappointed about.
I am, of course, still grateful that I am given a room to stay in. It doesn’t stop the longing for my true chosen family and the support they would have given me – and more than that, it doesn’t erase how hard I have been working to earn a semi-safe room.
What do I need to do to earn a slice of happiness?! It thinks for me. What would I have to give in order to deserve the happiness that others have who don’t even work for it?
Yeah, it sounds stupid, but it’s even more stupid because it’s true. I do feel like that whiny teenager on the inside.
Don’t you wish you had a dad that paid for everything for you? The voice teases.
“no.” I answer honestly. Even if I did have support, I wouldn’t want to rely solely on someone else- and the only times that I have had to rely on others are due to force and control. In fact, my choice has been taken away from me many times – my choice having already been made to give up and be homeless.
Who knows what that would have done to our game, though. The voice laments. You could have ruined it.
I hate their stupid game. Their game lumps me in with the Devil, constantly tormenting, constantly disrespecting.
“Trinkets and nothing more. I seek something more substantial, more true.” I tell it.
The darkness smiles.
It is not your choice to make, it is mine. It reminds me.
And I go back, to having only one valuable part of me in this reality: I’m the one that died. Everything else about me is nothing, something to mock, something to blatantly ignore. My skills only exist for someone else to take credit for it. Privacy is an illusion that is continuously stomped upon. Personal belongings? Only personal until someone decides they want them.
This whole world is nothing but a trinket! My inner voice rages. Humanity ALREADY IS better than this! I breathe in, once again afraid of the existential meaning behind all of this.
“There are a lot of people in your world.” I say out loud, to the darkness. “A lot of people who actively choose to not be good people. Not necessarily bad people, but are not trying to be good people in truth.”
There you go, I knew you had it in you. The darkness spoke in a honeyed voice. You have judged, and damned. It is once again your fault.
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