Do you know what it is like to close your eyes and see malevolent images staring right back at you? There are times when my insecurities take the form of humans, with their names in lieu of faces. Bad leader. Zero achievements. Airhead. They are boldly engraved on what’s supposed to be their faces.
Each time I make the mistake of closing my eyes, they shout at me — after ensuring that their faces stay implanted in my mind, their damn rotten faces — and remind me of the reasons behind their existence. Yes, even when I blink.
That I see them when I blink shows you how much time seems to slow down for our reunions. Time seems to be a part of this plan. Sometimes, I think all of this is some conspiracy, and that I am only an object that gets played with before being thrown into the darkest corner of a storeroom.
I am a hermit that goes deep into his self-created shelter, away from the poisons of the outside world, only to be met with his own fumes created to chase away outsiders. Or am I an outsider to my old self? Why is my fume rejecting my pleas? Yes, I neglected my mind when it asked for me to prepare an antidote. But can’t it listen to its creator, and stop this slow death it serves to me?
It has gotten out of hand, and I have accepted this poison into me. It has driven me out of my shelter, away from my self-comfort, and away from my home of confidence. I continuously seek the antidote, with faith that a kind-hearted fellow might have created such poison and antidote. Such a hopeless thought! It is the same way I wish so much to escape my unwanted friends. But how do you escape that which is in you?
It all started when I began seeking the reason for my existence, and what my destiny was, if there was such a thing as that. I scavenged for the best books, and read similar thoughts of dead men which resonated with mine. I saw different things I believed in get crumbled to dust by great men who existed ages ago. They were hard to accept, for they gave me sleepless nights and reasons to consume more books like a hungry animal. More and more, it became clear — but so did my head become filled with mists of hallucinations. My sanity seemed to be slipping away like wet soap on a bent and tiled floor.
I first questioned myself, and why I am just a mere imitation of them. I accepted that there are special people, and I’m just not one of them. Well, I accepted it, and it caused my reclusive journey, one that bore the images in my head and now, I’ve been sent to this hell.
But now, I think I should be able to touch heaven. It’s a high place every soul wants to attain. It’s that calming environment that takes you far away from a place called the earth, an almost literal opposite of heaven. But heaven isn’t real, how sure can I be that it’s not a fairy tale, like a home for unicorns? How was my soul formed? Why was there no permission from our feeble souls to come into this place?
I call the earth hell. This is one kind of hell that appeals to the forced soul. It pleases it, massages its back and feet when tired, gives it visual food regularly, and all of that. Ha! That’s what they say. Although, I cannot deny how beautiful this place is, how pleasing the greens are to my eyes, how soothing the sound of the oceans are to me, how satisfying standing on a mountain is, and yet I find myself wanting to taste heaven. I want to see how much better than hell it is. I want to know if heaven deserves the name, and if there’s no suffering of souls there.
Now, with a key found in the earth — a very openly hidden one at that— I shall navigate the path to heaven. And, as I let gravity do its job, I shall, from this empty space, enjoy the view of this hell, one last time. Who knows, this might be the only thing in existence.