immortal

Speaking of old notes on my phone, here seems to be a short story I wrote from March of 2025 for today’s post:

There was a time, when I was full of emotion. Even in that place I endlessly begged to escape. At least there, I was full of righteous fury. I still had reason to suffer.

And now - at best I am melancholy and at worst I am a void. There is nothing left to me. My body may have kept on going but my soul has died long ago. I am merely a collection of sad memories. All the good I had done has since been undone. And all the relationships I had made with people I loved have long since ended.

Every friend I bury leaves the world ever dimmer. I can count on one hand the lights left in my life. They too glow dim and humble. Flickering quietly.

Clarity and purpose used to fill me. I was not always so hollow like this. I don’t understand anything anymore. My superego is shattered and my id is crippled. My ego banished to purgatorium.

This is no reward. Is this instead, my punishment for surviving my rebellious war? Did I wrong when I survived my comrades? Perhaps I selfishly saved my own life instead of giving it up to save another. And yet if this was indeed the case, I’d do it again. I selfishly cling to my husk…

Is this my penance?