Outside In
our coming in piece
I’m tired of hiding behind this fake persona. You want to know who I really am? I’m a 19-year-old fuckup who has never had to work a day in his life. I benefit off my wealthy parents. I never had to buy myself a car, and I never had to apply for a job, because ‘connections’. My entire life is artificial, a world built for me and still I choose to come on here and write, whine and complain. When the high and mighty become lowly, don’t help them up. They’ll just jump over your head to get even higher. Don’t pity me. Spit on me. This is a comedy.
Such a cynical perspective to have. I’ve been sensing his ruminations. His feelings are just as valid as anyone else. I wish he could see that. He watches me from afar, staring, with eyelids shut. I find it deeply unsettling to be so seen in such a lonely corner, but I know why he does it. He wants to be like me, but he doesn’t know how. Maybe I could show him what it’s like to be more like me.
She thinks she can help him but they’re both just as bad for each other. She’s going to poison his mind with her mindless rhetoric. Does anyone know how she even got in here? Who or what let her through the door? Fucking ridiculous. They’re not even alike. I know what he’s like, but he won’t let me show him. I’ve been benched. After all I’ve done for him. All those years getting him through those exams and assignments and what do I have to show for it? Just this… fucking skin! I haven’t seen the light in some time now, and it’s starting to irritate. I can feel it itching to be let in. I can’t stop scratching.
When I look at him, I think of how far he’s fallen to his addiction. He doesn’t realise he’s already dead. The lack of exposure for some of us is enabling, and for others it’s lethal. It’s a hard thing to tell a patient, that they’re going to die, but what’s the alternative? Ultimately, his cure is in sight, but it’s an undesirable outcome for the rest of us. Personally, I think it’s good that she’s being recognised and noticed. Maybe things will finally turn around now that she’s here.
Visualise a one-way mirror. Inside sees all. The host can feel but not see. The outside can only speculate. Inside lives a civilisation of thoughts, ideas, opinions, expressions. Some more prominent than others. A gorgeous woman, adorned in stylish heels and a beautiful green dress, incredibly exposed, yet endlessly confident. She’s new, or was she always there? Regardless, she is felt far more than anyone else. An older man, toothpick in mouth, downing the first drink he can find, and the next. Skin red and inflamed from the incessant itching. He was once the one felt, but he’s been left in the shadows to rot. The clinician can see his condition but knows not to help. His ultimate goal is to serve the space which inhabits them, keeps them all alive, so he must clean-up where he can.
This is a state of mind that troubles me. I could learn a thing or two about opening up my brain without taking a scalpel to it. It’s a delicate ecosystem. And she has so much more to show me, I shouldn’t keep her waiting.