Nothing (A True Event)
Tears streamed down my face.
Words fill my head as I run, sobbing, to the balcony. "Disappointment", "failure", "reject", "outcast", "misfit", and "mistake", all resounding, echoing in my brain. And the agony only increases.
You just embarrassed yourself in front of everyone.
The worst part was their reactions. I come off stage, and everyone says "You did great", "You were amazing", and "That was beautiful", but everyone in the room knows that I forgot the lyrics to the song that I was performing.
You're so bad at everything you do.
I make my way through the double-doors of the building. I think about how they called me back on stage, and the room was utterly silent, still in shock from the disaster they had just witnessed on stage. The buzzing that filled my head in that moment came back, and I tried my best to shake it loose. It never stopped.
You're so vain and overconfident.
I make my way into the elevator, and hit the button to go to the fourth floor. Why did I even sign up to do this? I could've been supporting my friends, not embarrassing myself in front of them to no avail. Now look at my reputation! Down where no one can see it.
You have no friends.
I get onto the balcony, sit down in a rocking chair, and fifteen minutes pass. I feel the innate tug to get all of these feelings out of my head before it reaches critical mass. "That's right, I can tell a friend!" I text him, and he usually replies immediately.
He doesn't text back.
Even the people who you thought were friends hate you.
Fifteen more minutes. I thought back to all of the times that my friends laughed at me. They didn't laugh because I did something funny, they laughed because I was the funny one. I never fit, wherever I went. Everyone would look at me, laugh, and then slowly back away. A lot of those who had gotten close to me only did so because they needed me to do something for them; and I, being so blisteringly naïve, would always do it.
You'll never be as good as any of them.
I tilt my head back on the rocking chair, tears streaming down my face, past my ears. I think of all of the people at my school; I don't deserve any of them. They're all too kind to me, treat me way to well, and keep me way too close to them, while I do nothing but bring them down with my numerous hamartias. What have I possibly done to do deserve them?
Your parents think you're a disappointment.
My mother - oh god, my mother. She's one of the best people in my life. I've done nothing to deserve her, and yet she's there for me every step of the way. She graduated as the top student at both her school and her college and moved to the US as one of the best networking professionals in all of India. And to think she put all of her hard work into a failure like me!
Yes, you never will be as good as any of them. You'll always be a mistake, a disappointment, a stupid little prick who'll always be cocky enough to think that your so-called "skills" are worth showing to the world. Accept it, everyone hates you. Your friends, your parents. Anyone around you will suffer inevitably; it's the price that they pay to be near you. It's so close, it's right in front of you: your escape. Do it, just do it, and it'll all be over. Do it, and all your suffering will be replaced with nothing-
"Ah! There you are Orion!"
A student walks up to the balcony, gazing at the stars.
He can't see your weakness. Hide it.
I quickly dry my tears, and say weakly,
"The sky's really clear tonight."
"I know, right? Take a look at Sagittarius!"
Could this be fate?
We converse for the next hour on the stars. How we both would stare up at the stars and watch the motions of the heavens as children, knowing that we were but grains of sand on an infinite desert, and the world we know was but a small haven in the beautifully cruel, elegantly unforgiving universe. We talked on and on about the motions of the heavens as we knew them.
His name was Christian. He was a film major. His passion was remaking film trailers better than they were before. He told me about how he looked to see the broad themes in life and movies, and that film is the highest form of art, as it was the highest form of imitation of life itself.
He left after our conversation, but I stayed at the balcony.
Was that what the stars had written? Is this what is meant for me?
I slowly got up from the chair.
I stumbled to the ledge. I saw the sweet, bloody release awaiting me, 30 feet below.
Then, I felt it.
Wow. You really do want to kill yourself.
You want to take your one chance at life, and you want to throw it right to the curb. You want to take away the only thing that you have left, your own life, just because you have nothing else left to lose? That's despicable. You want to forfeit the game even before it started.
I turned around, and pushed through the double-doors leading back to the building.
The game has just begun.
Words fill my head as I run, sobbing, to the balcony. "Disappointment", "failure", "reject", "outcast", "misfit", and "mistake", all resounding, echoing in my brain. And the agony only increases.
You just embarrassed yourself in front of everyone.
The worst part was their reactions. I come off stage, and everyone says "You did great", "You were amazing", and "That was beautiful", but everyone in the room knows that I forgot the lyrics to the song that I was performing.
You're so bad at everything you do.
I make my way through the double-doors of the building. I think about how they called me back on stage, and the room was utterly silent, still in shock from the disaster they had just witnessed on stage. The buzzing that filled my head in that moment came back, and I tried my best to shake it loose. It never stopped.
You're so vain and overconfident.
I make my way into the elevator, and hit the button to go to the fourth floor. Why did I even sign up to do this? I could've been supporting my friends, not embarrassing myself in front of them to no avail. Now look at my reputation! Down where no one can see it.
You have no friends.
I get onto the balcony, sit down in a rocking chair, and fifteen minutes pass. I feel the innate tug to get all of these feelings out of my head before it reaches critical mass. "That's right, I can tell a friend!" I text him, and he usually replies immediately.
He doesn't text back.
Even the people who you thought were friends hate you.
Fifteen more minutes. I thought back to all of the times that my friends laughed at me. They didn't laugh because I did something funny, they laughed because I was the funny one. I never fit, wherever I went. Everyone would look at me, laugh, and then slowly back away. A lot of those who had gotten close to me only did so because they needed me to do something for them; and I, being so blisteringly naïve, would always do it.
You'll never be as good as any of them.
I tilt my head back on the rocking chair, tears streaming down my face, past my ears. I think of all of the people at my school; I don't deserve any of them. They're all too kind to me, treat me way to well, and keep me way too close to them, while I do nothing but bring them down with my numerous hamartias. What have I possibly done to do deserve them?
Your parents think you're a disappointment.
My mother - oh god, my mother. She's one of the best people in my life. I've done nothing to deserve her, and yet she's there for me every step of the way. She graduated as the top student at both her school and her college and moved to the US as one of the best networking professionals in all of India. And to think she put all of her hard work into a failure like me!
Yes, you never will be as good as any of them. You'll always be a mistake, a disappointment, a stupid little prick who'll always be cocky enough to think that your so-called "skills" are worth showing to the world. Accept it, everyone hates you. Your friends, your parents. Anyone around you will suffer inevitably; it's the price that they pay to be near you. It's so close, it's right in front of you: your escape. Do it, just do it, and it'll all be over. Do it, and all your suffering will be replaced with nothing-
"Ah! There you are Orion!"
A student walks up to the balcony, gazing at the stars.
He can't see your weakness. Hide it.
I quickly dry my tears, and say weakly,
"The sky's really clear tonight."
"I know, right? Take a look at Sagittarius!"
Could this be fate?
We converse for the next hour on the stars. How we both would stare up at the stars and watch the motions of the heavens as children, knowing that we were but grains of sand on an infinite desert, and the world we know was but a small haven in the beautifully cruel, elegantly unforgiving universe. We talked on and on about the motions of the heavens as we knew them.
His name was Christian. He was a film major. His passion was remaking film trailers better than they were before. He told me about how he looked to see the broad themes in life and movies, and that film is the highest form of art, as it was the highest form of imitation of life itself.
He left after our conversation, but I stayed at the balcony.
Was that what the stars had written? Is this what is meant for me?
I slowly got up from the chair.
I stumbled to the ledge. I saw the sweet, bloody release awaiting me, 30 feet below.
Then, I felt it.
Wow. You really do want to kill yourself.
You want to take your one chance at life, and you want to throw it right to the curb. You want to take away the only thing that you have left, your own life, just because you have nothing else left to lose? That's despicable. You want to forfeit the game even before it started.
I turned around, and pushed through the double-doors leading back to the building.
The game has just begun.
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