“I can’t believe you actually ran away. Weren’t you ‘serious’ about the whole search? And you let a little talk dissuade you immediately? You little snowflake. So weak, crybaby.”
My eyes remained glued to the ceiling, my body completely motionless in bed. By the time I arrived home I no longer wanted to cry, and the shaking had completely stopped. I just felt ridiculous, exaggerated and annoying. The need to run away had been replaced by a need to hide, to the point where I closed my bedroom’s door and even the blinds, quickly wrapping myself in sheets to look at the ceiling.
Comfortable, yet dreading every second. It’s a very strange kind of Hell.
Time passed irregularly, sometimes crawling, sometimes at full speed. I feel like I’ve slept but I am not actually sure, for I don’t remember any dreams or even darkness, only the ugly, rough cement ceiling.
Kinda reminds me of when Venus and I just moved to Saüle. Back then we went into a tiny, rather dodgy bungalow, or to be more precise the second floor of a bungalow. One time, the place got so humid that Venus’ ceiling came crashing down on her. Poor girl.
I wonder, what would happen if the ceiling came crashing down on me? It’s quite heavier, considering this is an apartment complex… would I die instantly? Would people be bothered?
They probably would be.
Kinda reminds me of a conversation I had with my psychiatrist once. I told him I was having suicidal ideas and didn’t know what to do. ‘Think of your parents’, he said. ‘Think of how sad everyone would be if you were gone’. Out of frustration ,I asked if I was actually living for other people, and not for myself. He didn’t know what to say.
He was right about one thing though, the thought did keep me going until now. I would feel so guilty if I caused grief because of my inability to deal with life like a normal person. It’s no one’s fault but mine, really.
Then again, I have to wonder if I will even ‘feel’ anything after I die.
Kinda reminds me of the first time I thought about death. I was, what, 15? Maybe younger. The sudden realization that one day everything I am and everything I experience will end hit me like a truck, and no matter how much I tried to repeat the promise of Heaven to myself, I ended up running to the bathroom and scratching my arms like a madman, I assume out of panic.
No idea why that was my first impulse, or why it still is every time I am overwhelmed by fear, but it just happens. My hands go straight for my arms and start scratching, up and down, until the pain is enough to make me stop thinking.
I’ve never drawn blood or left marks, thankfully.
Kinda reminds me of when Venus used to cut herself, back in highschool. I never understood that, at least not until I had my first panic attack. To me it was just something irrational she did without really thinking about it, a reaction to grief or something. I couldn’t really understand the levels of that grief until now, and even if I do it now, it’s way too late…
I wonder what she's doing now… she ran away with her boyfriend as soon as she had the chance to bounce on me, and I honestly don’t blame her at all. I am tiresome, and worst of all, when she needed me the most I simply chose to ignore her and sink into my own self pity.
I wonder if she thinks about me sometimes. A part of me wishes she was worried, but the rest of me wishes she just forgot about me. She has other things, other people, other deals to meditate on.
I miss her.
Or maybe, I miss the her I remember, the her I made in my brain. Not actually her. The last months before her departure, our relationship had devolved quite a bit! She was clearly hurt by my dismissal, my laziness, my hermit ways. We both became such passive aggressive assholes to each other…
Were we friends at that point? Did we still love each other?
Back in the day, everyone said we would end up married or at least as a couple, we were together all the time… but I always tried to keep my distance and avoid falling in love with her. I knew we would be bad for each other… or maybe I was just coping, assuming she would reject me if I ever took a step closer in that direction.
A sudden knock on the door wakes me up. Was I asleep all this time? More importantly, who the hell could that be?
“Venus…”
No. She wouldn’t come back unless she really, really needed to.
Then again, vacations are starting, so maybe she’s back for her things?
Saints damn it, I really don’t want to see her right now.
“Why would she knock though? She has a key.”
Maybe she lost it or something.
With a heavy sigh, and preparing myself for some more uncomfortable moments, I get right up my bed and walk over to the front door. I guess it’s a good thing I fell asleep with my clothes on.
I feel paralyzed by the presence of the door again, at least for a few seconds, before a second more insistent knock forces me to actually open the door.
“Hello…?”
“Delivery for Santino Belnades?”
“A-Ah, right…”
It was a good thing that it wasn’t her, right? I took the small package, signed the papers and tipped the delivery boy the few stray coins in my pockets, before closing my door and looking down.
Why am I so afraid of everything…?
“You’re ignoring the fact that you slept for long enough that an entire day passed. That’s not normal.”
I’ve always been good at sleeping, it’s not really that weird for me.
Wait. My meds. It’s almost 12 o’clock. Damn it!
I set the box on the table and trot over to check on my backpack, pulling the meds and swallowing one just like that, shivering at the lingering rubbery feeling. Blegh.
“You keep doing this to yourself, you know? If you know these don’t work, why keep taking them?”
Because my body is already dependent on them. If I stop, the withdrawal will kill me. Simple as. In fact, just by missing the proper time I will feel queasy all day today.
Maybe I should ask my psychiatrist to lower my dosage…
“It hasn’t been two months since you started the medication, don’t give up on them yet. Your body is still getting used to them!”
It’s taking its damn time, for sure…
With a sigh, I sit down by the table and open my computer with one hand while messing with the package with the other. After unwrapping, I am left with a white plain box, and after opening that, a tiny black box with several ethernet ports.
That’s when I realized that I have no idea how to set up this thing.
“Another masterful gambit. Well done, sir.”
Oh don’t be a drama queen, it’s nothing that cannot be solved with our good ol’ friend: the Internet! I immediately go looking for tutorials on setting up routers. I don’t even try to put the ‘Tripolar’ word in, for I know there won't be any results there.
The videos I found seem solid enough for an introduction, but…
“Twenty minutes… what. What kind of video goes on for twenty minutes?”
Not only that, but the first thing I see upon clicking the video is an ad… disappointed beyond belief, I decide on plan b.
“Quick, call for Vito!”
The old messenger opens. There are some people online! Maria is around, Patricio too… but I can’t get distracted right now. I need the boy.
xXxCallMeBigCookiexXx: Boye! Hey boye! owo
UndeadVito: oh hey bro.
UndeadVito: what’s up?
xXxCallMeBigCookiexXx: I need of your expertise in technology, boye!
UndeadVito: expertise? I mean, ok.
UndeadVito: shoot.
xXxCallMeBigCookiexXx: How do you install a Router?
UndeadVito: a router…
UndeadVito: well usually you just connect it to the service cable and that’s it.
UndeadVito: unless you bought it from some rando in FreeMarket, like a chump.
xXxCallMeBigCookiexXx: Uhhhm…
“I can’t believe you actually ran away. Weren’t you ‘serious’ about the whole search? And you let a little talk dissuade you immediately? You little snowflake. So weak, crybaby.”
My eyes remained glued to the ceiling, my body completely motionless in bed. By the time I arrived home I no longer wanted to cry, and the shaking had completely stopped. I just felt ridiculous, exaggerated and annoying. The need to run away had been replaced by a need to hide, to the point where I closed my bedroom’s door and even the blinds, quickly wrapping myself in sheets to look at the ceiling.
Comfortable, yet dreading every second. It’s a very strange kind of Hell.
Time passed irregularly, sometimes crawling, sometimes at full speed. I feel like I’ve slept but I am not actually sure, for I don’t remember any dreams or even darkness, only the ugly, rough cement ceiling.
Kinda reminds me of when Venus and I just moved to Saüle. Back then we went into a tiny, rather dodgy bungalow, or to be more precise the second floor of a bungalow. One time, the place got so humid that Venus’ ceiling came crashing down on her. Poor girl.
I wonder, what would happen if the ceiling came crashing down on me? It’s quite heavier, considering this is an apartment complex… would I die instantly? Would people be bothered?
They probably would be.
Kinda reminds me of a conversation I had with my psychiatrist once. I told him I was having suicidal ideas and didn’t know what to do. ‘Think of your parents’, he said. ‘Think of how sad everyone would be if you were gone’. Out of frustration ,I asked if I was actually living for other people, and not for myself. He didn’t know what to say.
He was right about one thing though, the thought did keep me going until now. I would feel so guilty if I caused grief because of my inability to deal with life like a normal person. It’s no one’s fault but mine, really.
Then again, I have to wonder if I will even ‘feel’ anything after I die.
Kinda reminds me of the first time I thought about death. I was, what, 15? Maybe younger. The sudden realization that one day everything I am and everything I experience will end hit me like a truck, and no matter how much I tried to repeat the promise of Heaven to myself, I ended up running to the bathroom and scratching my arms like a madman, I assume out of panic.
No idea why that was my first impulse, or why it still is every time I am overwhelmed by fear, but it just happens. My hands go straight for my arms and start scratching, up and down, until the pain is enough to make me stop thinking.
I’ve never drawn blood or left marks, thankfully.
Kinda reminds me of when Venus used to cut herself, back in highschool. I never understood that, at least not until I had my first panic attack. To me it was just something irrational she did without really thinking about it, a reaction to grief or something. I couldn’t really understand the levels of that grief until now, and even if I do it now, it’s way too late…
I wonder what she's doing now… she ran away with her boyfriend as soon as she had the chance to bounce on me, and I honestly don’t blame her at all. I am tiresome, and worst of all, when she needed me the most I simply chose to ignore her and sink into my own self pity.
I wonder if she thinks about me sometimes. A part of me wishes she was worried, but the rest of me wishes she just forgot about me. She has other things, other people, other deals to meditate on.
I miss her.
Or maybe, I miss the her I remember, the her I made in my brain. Not actually her. The last months before her departure, our relationship had devolved quite a bit! She was clearly hurt by my dismissal, my laziness, my hermit ways. We both became such passive aggressive assholes to each other…
Were we friends at that point? Did we still love each other?
Back in the day, everyone said we would end up married or at least as a couple, we were together all the time… but I always tried to keep my distance and avoid falling in love with her. I knew we would be bad for each other… or maybe I was just coping, assuming she would reject me if I ever took a step closer in that direction.
A sudden knock on the door wakes me up. Was I asleep all this time? More importantly, who the hell could that be?
“Venus…”
No. She wouldn’t come back unless she really, really needed to.
Then again, vacations are starting, so maybe she’s back for her things?
Saints damn it, I really don’t want to see her right now.
“Why would she knock though? She has a key.”
Maybe she lost it or something.
With a heavy sigh, and preparing myself for some more uncomfortable moments, I get right up my bed and walk over to the front door. I guess it’s a good thing I fell asleep with my clothes on.
I feel paralyzed by the presence of the door again, at least for a few seconds, before a second more insistent knock forces me to actually open the door.
“Hello…?”
“Delivery for Santino Belnades?”
“A-Ah, right…”
It was a good thing that it wasn’t her, right? I took the small package, signed the papers and tipped the delivery boy the few stray coins in my pockets, before closing my door and looking down.
Why am I so afraid of everything…?
“You’re ignoring the fact that you slept for long enough that an entire day passed. That’s not normal.”
I’ve always been good at sleeping, it’s not really that weird for me.
Wait. My meds. It’s almost 12 o’clock. Damn it!
I set the box on the table and trot over to check on my backpack, pulling the meds and swallowing one just like that, shivering at the lingering rubbery feeling. Blegh.
“You keep doing this to yourself, you know? If you know these don’t work, why keep taking them?”
Because my body is already dependent on them. If I stop, the withdrawal will kill me. Simple as. In fact, just by missing the proper time I will feel queasy all day today.
Maybe I should ask my psychiatrist to lower my dosage…
“It hasn’t been two months since you started the medication, don’t give up on them yet. Your body is still getting used to them!”
It’s taking its damn time, for sure…
With a sigh, I sit down by the table and open my computer with one hand while messing with the package with the other. After unwrapping, I am left with a white plain box, and after opening that, a tiny black box with several ethernet ports.
That’s when I realized that I have no idea how to set up this thing.
“Another masterful gambit. Well done, sir.”
Oh don’t be a drama queen, it’s nothing that cannot be solved with our good ol’ friend: the Internet! I immediately go looking for tutorials on setting up routers. I don’t even try to put the ‘Tripolar’ word in, for I know there won't be any results there.
The videos I found seem solid enough for an introduction, but…
“Twenty minutes… what. What kind of video goes on for twenty minutes?”
Not only that, but the first thing I see upon clicking the video is an ad… disappointed beyond belief, I decide on plan b.
“Quick, call for Vito!”
The old messenger opens. There are some people online! Maria is around, Patricio too… but I can’t get distracted right now. I need the boy.
xXxCallMeBigCookiexXx: Boye! Hey boye! owo
UndeadVito: oh hey bro.
UndeadVito: what’s up?
xXxCallMeBigCookiexXx: I need of your expertise in technology, boye!
UndeadVito: expertise? I mean, ok.
UndeadVito: shoot.
xXxCallMeBigCookiexXx: How do you install a Router?
UndeadVito: a router…
UndeadVito: well usually you just connect it to the service cable and that’s it.
UndeadVito: unless you bought it from some rando in FreeMarket, like a chump.
xXxCallMeBigCookiexXx: Uhhhm…
