Summary: A monologue by Dib, expressing feelings on a deteriorating familial relationship.
Disclaimer: The characters Dib, Zim, Gaz, and Professor Membrane are the property of Jhonen Vasquez. They are not mine.
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I don't know why I torture myself like this anymore. Is it out of masochistic self-pity? Is it out of my hopeless wishing that someday, I will rise to consciousness from this terrible nightmare? No one other than me sees Zim for what he really is: an alien bent on taking over Earth. Worse than that, everyone thinks I'm crazy. Even Dad and Gaz think I'm crazy. (Well, I don't really know what Gaz thinks; she rarely pries herself from her Game Slave 2, and the last time I tried to talk to her, she said no more than an angered "Leave me alone, Dib.") I find myself bitterly envying Gaz's ability to shut out everything and stoically focus on a single task, without the emotional pull of such a grim reality.
Many nights, lying awake, I wonder. What if I had existed in an alternate universe where Dad took my paranormal studies seriously—or was even a paranormal scientist himself? ...No. Even if that were true, then everyone would think we were both crazy, and we would still lie in our own separate solitudes.
I can't remember the last time Dad tucked me into bed at night, or even the last time (if ever) he told me he loved me. I must have been very young, because that was about when he started spending exponentially increasing time in his lab across town. Now, when he's not in the lab, he's filming Poking the Membrane of Science in the studio. Sometimes Dad doesn't return home for several days. This, in addition to Dad's intolerance, has alienated us from each other.
It seems that the only words we now exchange are related to the superficial differences between my apparently "false" science and his "real" science. His words, like invisible knives, cut through me every time: "You know not to use my equipment for your parascience." I feel the soreness of what, if physically manifested, would have been a sharp slap across my face. "Son, it's time that you turn to real science." I've wanted to be a paranormal scientist since I was a toddler; it hurts me that Dad can't accept that.
Slowly and painfully, I am realizing that I don't need Dad to accept me. My relationship with Dad may be crumbling, but I know that he can never destroy what I believe. I don't need Dad's permission to choose my future. Regardless of what Dad says, even if he never supports me, paranormal science is real science because I believe in it, and that is what makes it real science. With my own hands, I forge my destiny. Even if I must do it alone, I will fight Zim until the end—be it Zim's end or mine.