Mind and Words

Such a Pity

I am an actor.

Well, as much of an actor as anyone else.

From the moment I formed my first coherent sentence, I was told what to say, how to say it, and where to—or not to—say certain things. So, I learned that there was really only one particular environment where I could truly be myself. For all others, pretense was required.

Eventually, this pretense spread like a cancerous blight. It slowly began to permeate every single layer of my psyche. As I pretended to be someone else [a carbon copy of someone that knew more than I truly did], what little truths about myself that I managed to gain along the way, I surreptitiously concealed them in all manner of ways.

Not entirely certain when it finally happened, but it seems I hid them so well, that I completely lost myself in the process. Amidst all this confusion, there's something I do know for certain: how I appear to one person, mister-Prince-Charming. I thought he truly knew me.  Perhaps he never did and I was just fooling myself all along? If at some point those frank blue eyes ever saw a soul, that ability is long gone. He now sees nothing more than a monster.

But am I truly a monster? I don't think so, though I can't really say. If I ever catch a glimpse of my reflection, I'll check, just in case.

Of course, it's perfectly normal if I shout: "I haven't done anything bad!" Though, that would be a lie. Have you ever said that? If you have, then you're a liar. We all do bad things—sometimes on a daily basis—we just rationalize it away and go on our merry way. Even as you consider my words, you're attempting to find justifiable reasons for the things you do, anything to push that guilt away. It's entirely possible that I've just always been lost, since I was never allowed to find my own way—this is my current justification. I call it "the irrational no accountability tactic" and a perfectly normal defense mechanism. It's used in extreme situations where we find ourselves knee-deep in shit.

Listen, if you were me, you'd be the one leaning against this wall. You'd probably also be pondering away all your life choices, as well. You're as much of a performer as I am. We all are. 

What are you searching for exactly? Why are you searching for something different? Perhaps, you too are as lost as I am?

Well, my fellow lost performer, there is no greener grass ...

This is the precipice and it's only downhill from here.

Tonight, I'm all alone—no, that's not true. The man laying in the middle of the room is proof that I'm definitely not alone.

"Hey," I call out to him.

His green eyes vacantly stare at the ceiling in a eerie doll-like way. It's hard to believe that just a few hours ago, he waltzed into the room with a bright smile on his face. Now, his contorted features and gaping jaw make him appear as if he's eternally gasping for air.

"Are you still alive?" I whisper.

He remains silent, so I too become silent.

Poor Basil, though he always had impeccable judgement, couldn't foresee the danger that awaited him. Adoration blinds even the most perceptive of us from awful truths. "Run," I repeatedly begged him, "run away." But he refused to listen; he wanted to help that which can never be helped. The man that stood before him was no longer the man he first met—I wish he would've seen that sooner. Unfortunately, denial is a strong vice which we all indefatigably indulge in. It always carries a price, one which is rarely worth paying.

"It's all his fault! Everything went to shit the moment I met him! Or maybe, maybe ...," he wildly scanned the table and reached for a glimmering sharp object. "Maybe it's your fault—yes, that's it. This is on you. If it weren't for you, I would've never met him in the first place!"