In Love With An Idea

By Classy Cosplayer

I have an existential crisis and document the experience, and that's just the first chapter.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sitting Dragon's Productions
• Release date: Aug 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201542832

Book preview

In love with an idea

Chapter 1: Alone

I sit alone in the library between classes. Reading idly, as my mind begins to drift off, as if I could fall asleep at any moment... how convenient... I always struggle to fall asleep at night yet now when I have to stay awake to get to my next class on time, now is the time my body decides it wants to sleep.

The story I read is much like all the rest. The main protagonist has his plot armor and his unrequited loves, both for and from him. And yet I sit the discomfort of the plastic chair and the unnecessarily bright light through the crack between my sunglasses and my hat permitting the blinding light to irritate my overly sensitive eyes.

My mind begins to wander. I see a faceless girl with no personality in my mind’s eye approach me, just like any other time I sit idle after reading a story about a man who has what I don’t. but this time is different. Even in my mind I take a distance away from her. I begin to test her. Show her who I really am at the start. I try my best to shoo her away. you’re not even real. My barely audible murmur pierces the silence like a blade hurting me more than her. Why do I hurt myself like this I wonder?

I continue reading to try to keep myself awake. there really is nothing new under the sun. when I see myself in my mind’s eye, I see an ideal version of myself. Not just an ideal I perceive myself as though I have wings. In every thought I have about myself I always see myself with broad white feathered wings. As though I see myself as an angel. How Ironic. That I the most depraved man I know would see myself in such a pure light. Then again, I don’t delve too deeply into the minds of others and I tend to distance myself from others... despite my location.

The college I attend is a Christian school. Why would such a self admittedly depraved man go to a Christian school you ask? I have no idea. Every day I study here I ask myself that... well no... this is the first time I’ve put it into words. But I’ve wondered about it. What has drawn me here? I’m majoring in biblical studies with an emphasis in pastoral ministries but I have a crippling, debilitating fear of public speaking. I can craft words well enough and when I talk to myself the words flow like water and they tend not to even need a second draft but for some reason speaking publicly... scares me. When I was young I used to be able to make whoever I wanted to, do whatever I wanted them to simply with my words... but I had empathy... I was a curious devious little child so I tended to hurt those closest to me... but I did have empathy.

I’ve taken a bit of distance from others in part because I don’t want to hurt anyone else again. I’m a horrible person who delights in the suffering of others and yet I have empathy... why? Life would be so much easier if I didn’t feel for others. But I do. If I could just be as sadistic as my horrid little heart demands me be without knowing how it made others feel and being able to relate to it I would surely have a much easier time of life. But that’s not how I am and I’m aware that my actions have consequences. This too is part of why I distance myself from others but it’s not the whole reason.

I, even I was hurt once... I didn’t always look the way I do but I feel more comfortable now that I am as I am then before, I’ve learned to be content with what I have even if all I have is debt and the clothes on my back.

I sit through my next class and listen idly in the back of the class, slowly working my hidden eyes around the room silently evaluating every girl around me. Wondering if any of them would dare spare a second of their time with me. Wondering if I’d even want them to if they did. Slowly my brain plays back every moment in my life a girl’s been kind to me and I discredit every moment as her just being kind because, and I can’t stress this enough, I don’t want to think a girl likes me just to get my heart broken later.

I’ve decided since a while ago that if I think a girl likes me and I decide it might be worth perusing I’ll tell her outright so I don’t waste my time thinking about what could be when I can spend my time knowing what is. Why waste a second of my thoughts on a person who will never feel the same about me. It’s a heartless outlook but it makes so much sense. Take a rejection now when I’ve only just become interested over one a year or two later when I’ve already invested so much time and effort wondering how many children we’d have. But... I’ve been hurt before.

I have suffered for fifteen years because when I was a child a little baby boy, an infant. Something like 5 or 6 or 7 years old, it’s been clouded in the haze of me willfully trying to forget but I still remember why I’m like this. I was rejected... painfully... publicly... and loudly... my tiny mind that didn’t even comprehend how creepy I was being, having my little heart shattered so spectacularly left me with a crippling fear of letting anyone know how I feel. Which makes it even more surprising I managed to get a girlfriend in high school... more on that later... these thoughts this narration this auto biography floats through my head clouds my thoughts, narrates everything I do and say. These thoughts aren’t new they flood my mind and cloud my judgement every time I walk. Every step I take. Every moment that isn’t filled with a pointless distraction. Every day that isn’t filled to the brim with escapism hurts.

When I was in middle school I had a three year long existential crisis, for those of you wondering, I’m jumping around a lot because this is what my mind looks like truly and deeply. You are seeing something no one else has... I wait for a voice or anything to reply in the silence of my mind. Why do I keep thinking as though some telepath will show up or reply to my thoughts. Nobody would spare a moment to follow the cobbled unsightly mess that is the inside of my head and no one would try to unravel it to get a cohesive picture of who I am if I laid it all bare anyway.

Class ends and I haven’t learned a thing, but what’s new. I spent most of class fantasizing about how I’d either reject or be rejected by half the girls in my fairly small classroom. I wonder if that’s why I’m alone. A brief memory of my ex flashed in my mind and though my heart no longer aches for her sometimes something will remind me of her and though I almost never dwell on how things ended I remember the happy times the good parts and I wonder why things had to end at all.

I was in denial for a full year after she’d gone and once, I accepted that she left it was too late to grieve so I just didn’t... I’ve become very good at delaying my reactions so that when I feel pain I don’t react until after it’s passed and once the pain’s past and there’s no point reacting I just don’t. once when I was walking home with a mutual friend of my brother a pinecone fell from a tree and landed right next to my foot. The pinecone exploded and he jumped off the side walk into the street, I continued walking and talking about WWII or whatever it was we were discussing at the time. He stopped aghast at my lack of a response and I looked at him as though nothing happened in confusion that our talk had come to an abrupt and sudden change in topic. Did you not hear that?! he almost shouted. I felt that anyways... I tried to steer the conversation back on topic but eventually the irony of the situation got to me. The fact he had more of a reaction to something that happened more to me than to him had me in a fit of laughter. One of the rare moments I genuinely laughed. How joyous it is to laugh without restraint. Where did my joy go?

As I sit on the trolly on my way back home after my last class of the day I lament that my phone didn’t keep the page of the light novel I was reading open once I’d left the Wi-Fi and now I’m left alone with my thoughts for a whole half hour on my commute home. I stare at my reflection in the glass as the scenery passes me by. My body thrown lazily on the large soft seat. I was lucky today and the older less wheelchair accessible trolly car happened to be attached to the trolly on my commute home today. It may be mean to say it’s my favorite of the two but the seats on the other car are just so small plastic and uncomfortable whereas these are essentially couching on a train. I see my black top-hat with a white bandana tied around it with a couple of crow’s feathers I’d found on the ground lightly stuffed into the makeshift ribbon tilted slightly. Not enough to let the overhead light past my glasses but enough that at a glance it would seem I’d fallen asleep. I see my tie, tied with the short part in front cause I prefer this knot to the one most people wear. I mostly like it because it’s different but I also like how if you look closely it looks like my tie is wearing a tie... not that anyone would spare a glance to look closely at me.

My shirt is a bit old and slightly worn out but it’s comfortable. It’s not the best looking of my dress shirts but it’s one of the only ones that fit comfortably without choking me or tightly gripping at my watch. My eyes move down to my leather clad arms. To the ring on my right middle finger, how a ring my father gave me fits on my hand is a mystery to me and my brother and sisters. A size eleven ring on my hand. I see my watch and the bracelets I got from church. Each one I got on the Friday before easter... except the small one I got at school. My watch fit somewhat loosely on my other arm I heard it ticking but the time on it is scarcely right. They say a broken watch is still right twice a day but mine either runs too fast or two slowly depending on the day so I can’t even say that, yet I still wear it because it was a gift and for some reason I’m very particular about treasuring gifts from people I deep important. Even if it’s a gift I gave myself. My eyes go down to the slightly worn jeans on my legs and the boot on the foot I have resting on my knee and I try desperately to stay awake as the slow vibrations from the trolley shake my resolve and threaten to make me miss my station again.

I try to pry my eyes awake. I think of the one thing that always occupies my mind completely every time I think about it. The future. When I was younger I saw my future as something that could go down three potential paths, as of now the paths have unified into one and the three paths I saw before were simply different parts of the same future. I saw myself becoming an animator or... at least a writer for cartoons. I’m confident in my ability to write but the erratic state of my mind that can’t focus on one task for too long tends to be my undoing because when I write I let the story lead itself. I am hit with inspiration and the story just goes. I let it wander as it pleases and let the characters do as I think they’ll do in the circumstances I put them in and this is good for flow but when inspiration runs out this method of writing is incredibly difficult. Because I can’t see where the characters will go if I can’t see the characters anymore.

I always thought if I could write a story and it became popular, I could use that story to propel me into situations that’d force me to get over my fear of public speaking. Maybe if my story gets big and I become famous I’ll have to be put in front of an audience and be forced to face my fears head on. But I don’t want to be famous. I want the money but not the fame. The wealth but not the recognition. I could go without leaving my name in the annals of history. I honestly don’t care if anyone remembers me after I die because God will and for me that’s enough.

Perhaps I didn’t make it clear earlier so I’ll say it now, I may be the most depraved horrible person I could possibly ever know but I am a Christian and I am working towards trying to improve myself and part of improving yourself is recognizing that there’s a problem here that needs fixing.

The second future I saw myself going down was a what if. But the way things are going it seems to be the likely what if. I wondered what it would be like if I became famous on YouTube and the panels I’d be invited to attend would help me get over my stage fright or perhaps I wouldn’t be so scared of talking in front of a crowd of strangers if between me and them stood a camera. This more or less merged with the first because as a writer I’d expect the only way for me to become known on Youtube would be for me to actually create content that’s good but all I know how to write is fiction.

I’m no good with things that are real. I almost miss my station and get off the trolley to wait for the bus that’ll take me within walking distance of my house. I ponder the house I think I’ll have. It’s almost always the same dream of the big house in the midst of a forest with a lake somewhere near the back. There’s a large outdoor bath and a large garden with my favorite fruits vegetables and spices growing for when I cook. There’s a fairly well-equipped kitchen. There’re two recording rooms. One specifically for music, the other more for voice acting. I imagine I’ll be having a lot of the animation work done from my house. There are security cameras everywhere on a closed circuit more so if anyone ever accuses me of a crime, I didn’t commit I have video evidence of the fact I scarcely ever leave my house. I like the idea of living alone but often times in this vision of what my future home will look like there are people besides me there. Whether I dream of having a girl to spend my life with in isolation or I dream of friends who have been forged in the lines of the battle field that is the entertainment industry for the hearts and minds of the young hanging out or even living with me in my otherwise uselessly big house.

That there’s a bomb shelter for a basement, though with where exactly I live and the high chance of earthquakes it probably would have to be a bomb shelter if I want a basement anyway. In case you haven’t guessed already the third path I see my future going down is one where I preach. I don’t know why but whenever I try to focus on the other two paths, when my minds eye peers into the future that such a life would hold I look to myself and regret that my paths in life don’t seem too happy the only path I see any joy from is the last one but I don’t see the last one happening without me working through my stage fright. So either one or very likely both of the other two futures will have to happen first...

I just pray my faith will stand the test of time if indeed I have to live through both of these futures. Or if both are the same future. I have no doubt in my mind if God wanted me dead I’d be dead right now so either my suffering has meaning and I’m meant to learn something as I live in poverty wondering how my next meal will get to me, whether I’ll have to pay for it myself or if it will be bought for my by a family member. Relying solely on the fact the lord provides while still holding clinging desperately onto the future I foresee myself having.

Perhaps I should explain why I so strongly cling to this future. The members of my family have relayed stories to me of supernatural things that have happened to them. Particularly my mother and my sister. The youngest of my sisters foresaw her own children when she was 6 I think. My mother told me she foresaw me specifically and that I was the child they were trying for the whole time. My sister told me that when she was driving once she felt as if the car was lifted off the ground and while the wheels were still spinning the car stopped and another car came barreling down the way only after she’d taken her foot off the gas and