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Is This Insanity?

Novel By: UN Owen
Other



A man with no direction in life and a secret longing for death, Noel Lynch describes his feelings of utter inadequacy and dissatisfaction with everything as he recounts the most memorable moments of his short and lonely existence. A deconstruction and satire of depression-filled coming-of-age stories, it also acts as a true and honest look into the mind of an anxious, depressed young man who blames others for his own misery View table of contents...


Chapters:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Submitted:Feb 27, 2013    Reads: 3    Comments: 0    Likes: 1   


I awoke in a bed. I had never been in it before, but it seemed familiar somehow. The reason it seemed so familiar was because I had seen a bed and a room similar to this on TV. I was in a hospital. Next to me was a chair for somebody to sit in. Nobody sat there. I gazed at the ceiling and then at my arm. It was bandaged up. The doctors had managed to stop the bleeding, so I survived. My eyes turned back towards the ceiling, and I stared up at it for a good five minutes. Tears began to form once again inside of them. I cried so much. And then, with all of my strength, I muttered one word, "Why?"

It has been several years since these events had taken place. After being released from the hospital, I was forced to return to the clinic from where I had been discharged earlier. I remained there for many more months before they deemed me ready to leave once again. Being back there, I sort of hoped to see Lily once again, but alas, I did not. Quinn was still there though, and I met his cute little sister Meredith when she came to visit one day. She was lovely, and almost a polar opposite of her sociopathic older brother. Eventually, I was released and graduated high school. After that, I managed to get into contact with one of my old friends, Troy, and he allowed me to rent an apartment with him and a few other old friends of mine. However, they all had jobs and girlfriends while I sat around lazily and pawned some of my belongings to help pitch in for rent. I managed to get accepted into an art school a few weeks ago and I continue to pursue my hopeless dreams of becoming a filmmaker. Apparently, my SAT scores were incredibly high, giving me another chance at a life. Still, I am forced to attend counseling sessions every week with my doctor and we talk about all of the things that make me sad and the things that make me happy. I used to tell him things that made me happy, but then I realized that I was lying and I confessed that I was never happy. I told him that nobody was every happy, and that I was cursed. Because I am cursed. I am able to see the dark underbelly of the human consciousness. The pain that lays beneath our personas, the fa├žade of happiness we all wear in order to fit in. We all seek acceptance into the collective that is society, and society does not accept unfit, unhappy individuals. I realized that I was not alone. Everybody else feels the same way I do. But the difference between them and me is that they can ignore it, even if only temporarily. They can look past it and optimistically see their bright futures ahead, even when all of their hope seems lost. But I am doomed, cursed, to see the cold, despicable truth that society and the universe care not for the individuals that reside in them. I see that people will continue to present these cruel barriers and shut other people out. We are incapable of empathizing with others, and that is why we are miserable.

The other night, I attempted to take my life again by jumping off of a large bridge. However, I returned home without trying anything. There was no point to it. Killing myself would be even more pointless than living. I don't know what to do anymore. I have lost all direction, all semblance of understanding. My situation is not even pitiable. People reading this (that's you, reader!) probably hate my pessimistic and self-defeating attitude. You most likely regard me as a waste of human resources and space, and are probably shouting at me to get off my ass and do something about my misery. And to all of you, I would like to tell you, loudly and proudly, to fuck yourselves with a spiked dildo strapped to the dismembered cock of an autistic porn-star.

This is for the people who can relate to the horrors of reality and the misery that comes from being alive. Goodbye, dear readers. I hope that we will meet again, but I highly doubt that. For now, I will try to go on with my life, and perhaps I will become an acclaimed director like Kubrick or Welles. I implore you to try and continue with yours too, reader. But if you don't feel like it, then be my guest. Kill yourself.

Sincerely yours,

Noel Lynch





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