He wasn't sure why it happened, but it did. As always. It really was inevitable.
It had been a good day though, so he couldn't understand why he was feeling as he was. There was literally no logic to it. Nothing to indicate why. Had it even been an hour that he'd returned home? He wasn't sure, but now, alone in his room, he felt his depression seeping back into his thoughts. It was like a slow poison, one that could take hours or even days to kill you, but as it was a poison, without an antidote, death was a certainty. Nothing could hold his attention, nothing was interesting. He wanted, to do something, to distract himself, but nothing seemed worth doing. Everything was just uninteresting. Abruptly, his thoughts turned to suicide. Why? Because he was bored. Literally. He knew that was a foolish notion. Yes, he did want to die, but not simply because he was bored!
He was infuriated but that barely even penetrated the dull gray fog that had settled over him. He laid there, motionless, listening to some animated comedy play on the tv in his room. He wanted to play a game, but none of them sounded interesting. Well it did, but he just couldn't find it in himself to care. He tried messaging a friend that always cheered him no matter what, but they never answered. Eventually, defeated, he closed his eyes and fell asleep.
Sitting with his girlfriend, he came to a few realizations. He was tired of feeling the way he did. He wanted things to change. He wanted help that would actually help. Nothing seemed to be working and he couldn't understand why that was. It was like he was stuck, not going forward or back, just in place. He considered another hospital stay, but knew it would do nothing as they couldn't offer anything. He went to therapy, once a week. He got along with his therapist, she was very understanding and willing to work with him. She was doing everything she could, but somehow, he couldn't see changes and it disappointed him. He wasn't disappointed with her, just himself.
It really was like before, when he was younger, just a fucking kid. He wanted to die, just to get it over with already. He was tired of life, tired of living. Again though, as he had acknowledged in the last few years whenever his thoughts went this way, he has the proverbial everything. Everything to live for. Everything to want to live for but still, that desire to live, isn't within him. And truthfully, he doesn't think it ever really was. Even when he was a kid.
His earliest memories were of when he was around three or four, pretty young, but even then he knew he was different from the other kids. He preferred to hang out with the older siblings or adults, to be involved in real conversations, watch the history channel with his absent father. He'd always been fascinated with death, ever since he learned of it. It was interesting, untouchable, irreversible. Blood, guts, pain, suffering, all those things were appealing. He wanted to know why to all of it. The why of everything in the universe. He was always asking people why, even now, he always asks.
He was probably four when his first pet, a goldfish, died. He hadn't cared much though, he wasn't terribly attached to it. He loved his dad's cats though they didn't always like him, unless he gave them food with permission.
It wasn't until he was between seven and nine that he saw his first dead thing in person. It was his Aunt and Uncle's dog, she wasn't that old. She had died of a heart attack, due to the weather. He wasn't there, he had been at school. He found her body, laying outside, he assumed she was sleeping, and thought nothing of it. Later, when he learned of her death, he was sad but also confused. He didn't understand why she was just laying there, why she had died. Well obviously, he understood that her heart had stopped beating but he didn't understand why it had done that, other than the obvious cause. It broke his cousin's heart, many tears were shed for days after, but he didn't really cry, he didn't really feel anything. He knew she was dead and not coming back, not coming to greet him when he returned from school, not begging for scraps at the table, not taking and hiding the other dog's tennis balls. He knew, but he didn't particularly care, he just wanted to know why. To understand death.
His mother, at first, had tried to convince him to believe as she did. School, however, changed all of that. He saw no evidence of a "God", and therefore believed solely in science's way of creation. As he grew older, he learned of other gods and goddesses and belief systems. He learned that death hadn't always been so feared by so many. In truth, he began to worship one of the many gods of death. Perhaps worship isn't the right word though, he merely held that particular god in higher esteem than all others, he did not believe in prayer and other such things, finding them to be wastes of time more than anything.
That is probably what solidified his belief that if one wanted something done right, one did it themself.
For he always heard about "Pray for _", but no one ever seemed to be doing anything about what they prayed for. And so he relied on himself and only himself.
Years later, he came to the conclusion that we live only to die. There is no real point to anything. As the larger part of the world is afraid of death, everything possible is done to extend life. Still, he saw nothing in the world he wanted, nothing truly worth it. Sure, there were good times, but they ended, as did all things. Living just seemed..., irrelevant. Why not cross the ultimate border and see what, if anything, awaited?
It's been a slow process, but as the years have continued to drag by, he has lost faith in all he used to believe. Now..., he simply doesn't care. So what if gods and goddesses exist? What does it truly matter? Everyone's life is their own, to do with as they wish.
He doesn't blame anyone for how he sees the world. He just accepts it. Maybe his thoughts will change again one day, but for now, even with the proverbial everything, he can't seem to figure out why he's alive. Maybe once, he believed in all sorts of things. But no longer.
Tai exited the room of his girlfriend, going to the bathroom. He looked at his reflection, messy hair, paled skin, tired eyes, tattoos that once meant everything to him. Now..., not even his tattoos held much meaning. The reasons he had wanted them, rang hollow as his beliefs deserted him. He sighed and returned to the bedroom. He glanced at her, she was sleeping peacefully. 'Beautiful,' he thought with a small smile, but it quickly faded as a sigh made it's way past his lips. He laid beside her and closed his eyes.
Some things, just were...
