Existential Crisis

WARNING: +18, MATURE CONTENT:

MENTION OF DRUGS AND DRUG ABUSE, TALKS ABOUT MENTAL HEALTH, CONTAINS A LOT OF SWEAR WORDS, AND IMPLICATIONS OF CERTAIN MATURE ACTIVITIES.  

 J.T. has been gone for one week with no contact, or warning. Kam and Paul are breaking into his apartment by jacking it open with a crowbar. Emily and Fran stood guard at different ends of the hallway. It was midday Sunday. It was eerily quiet as the hallways were lit by little lights on the ceilings of the hallways. 

When they broke into the apartment and swung the door wide open, J.T.’s homemade alarm went off. The white, chipped wooden door hit the multicolored ceramic windchimes that were hanging above the door, and a purple rubber goose screamed at the base of the door. Paul immediately grabbed the windchimes to make them stop making music, as he kicked the goose into the bathroom. “This has to be the saddest alarm system I have ever seen a man make.” Paul said. “Well, would you rather have J.T. be the screaming goose?” Kam said. “They both sound the same.” 

They were met with darkness and silence. Paul turned on the light and the apartment became dimly lit. The only bright light being brought in was the one window with a view of a red brick wall from across the street.  

The apartment was a small room. J.T.’s naked bed, as in no sheets and one pillow stained with coffee, was in the living room. There was no tv, so it really was his “living” room. The kitchen was against the left side of the wall with just a sink, mini fridge, an oven, and a microwave. The only “other room” was a bathroom that could only fit one person at a time. The entire apartment was only decorated with a round oak wood table, with a blue and green painted wood chair, but no pictures because J.T. believed it disturbed his creativity. The smell of the apartment smelled like an old cigarette with a hint of dusty old books. It was weird because J.T. didn’t keep books in the apartment. 

Kam, Emily, Fran, and Paul stood around the chipped oak wood table and looked at the loose-leaf paper J.T. had written on. The piece of paper was taped on a Star Wars R2D2 Tamagotchi toy. Kam began to read aloud: 

“I just wanted to touch a bit on the topic of solitude. 

I've noticed that by ex-communicating yourself from the outside world and becoming a bit of an agoraphobe can lead to understanding yourself better, while distancing yourself from outside influence. Both positive and negative. Allowing room for personal untainted growth but at a cost; People think I'm fucking crazy. 

Since I tend to dwell within the confines of my own Kafkaesque mentality, I've become a social pariah. Anytime I stand in line at the gas station I feel like I'm thinking so loud that anyone within my vicinity can hear me and have free roam of my emotions or thoughts, which makes me feel uneasy since they are so abstract, I would be prone to judgment and shunned due to a lack of understanding. I can safely assume that not very many people are as willing as I am to subject their thoughts to intentional distress like you want to elaborate. You see...I'm only trying to find the answers, some form of enlightenment. 

The things I desire most are not tangible, and I always feel out of place in the material realm. Is it my prerogative to smile and nod at the other vessels, when I am not there with them, to begin with? This is why I tend to avoid direct eye contact with children since the eyes are the windows of the soul, and God forbid I subject any child to the bizarre and the bottomless quagmire that exists within my mind. For these occasions, I've fashioned a quirky character for them to tease and laugh at and pray that they don't see through the gaps in the smiles l've fashioned for them. They are quite intuitive when they are young, and I fear they can see the waking nightmare a human being can become. 

The more I linger the further away from reality I get, but the further away I get the more powerful I become. There is not a soul in the world that could hurt me anymore. Much like a martial arts battle where the victor is decided before the match even starts. It's called combat clairvoyance, but the fight is not with fists. I'm untouchable; Albeit at the expense of my loneliness. Hell, any sort of reaching out I do is merely an attempt to anchor myself. 

I like to think of this as a phase of my evolution, in order to become strong enough to make others around me feel safe and secure. I hope that one day soon, I will become the silent immovable rock that attracts the masses, for answers, for the correct questions, for peace of mind; the deep thought. 

To anyone left in my life, please have patience with me during my transition.” 

The room went silent. Nothing else could be heard besides the sounds of their breathing, and the sounds of cars driving by on the busy outside road. 

Fran broke the silence, “You don’t think he kill-”  

“No.” The others said unanimously. They are still staring at the note. With blank faces. All their arms are crossed over their chests. Five minutes have passed, and no one has said anything. 

“Well,” Paul spoke again as slapped his thighs, “There’s no point in not calling the cops, and calling it a missing persons case.”  

“No. We can’t get the cops involved.” Fran said. “And why not?”  

“Because what are they going to do when they find him? He already has a warrant for missing his parole meeting, and he already has a few drug offenses. What do you think they will do to him? They won’t give him back to us.” Fran said in an anxious tone.  

Paul rolled his eyes and mockingly said, “‘Give him back to us?’ He’s not a fucking dog.” “So, what if the cops come here and see the broken door? They’ll get us too.” “You can replace doors.” You can’t replace J.T.” “What the hell are you talking about? I-.” 

“Can you two just shut the fuck up,” Kam said interrupting their bickering. “You guys are not doing anything but annoying the hell out of me. Why don’t we just look around the apartment, make some calls, try going his favorite places, and see-.”  

“Does he look like Scooby fucking Doo to you? We’re not the mystery gang here. He’s not our lost puppy.” Paul interrupted Kam. Kam huffed out a breath while shaking their head, and Fran looked out the window with an annoyed look. 

“I don’t think it would hurt if we looked around the apartment? There is not much to go through. I am sure we can find something.” Emily said as she walked towards the kitchen and opened the drawers. Paul sat down on the chair and grabbed the paper and reread the note. Kam walked into the bathroom, and Fran stood still, just looking at the entire room.  

Emily opened the utensil drawer. Only a few forks, and two knives. She observed a few spoons that were melted downwards and had the oxidation color still on them. She sighed, put the spoons back down and closed the drawer. The next drawer had mixed colored napkins that were from restaurants, mixed with sauce packets from Taco Bell, or McDonalds. The third and last drawer had a black plastic plate with a “I LOVE DILFS” written on it, with rolled up joints of weed, and a few Swisher Sweets on it. There was a black lighter, and a torch lighter next to the plate. Emily bent down and opened the cabinets underneath the sink. There was nothing but a half-emptied bottle of Dawn dish soap. She sighed and closed the cabinets. She sat on the ground as she stared at the cabinet, seemingly staring at space. 

Kam, on the other hand, was going through countless bottles of used and unused Advil, Tylenol, Xanax, Ecstasy, Prozac, Valium, and OxyContin in his medicine cabinet that was behind the mirror. In the bathtub, there were wet cigarette butts around the rim of the bathtub, empty green and brown beer bottles, and plastic 5ths of cheap liquor. The toilet looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the day he moved in, over two years ago. The floor tile was either cracked, or some of the pieces were missing. “This looks about right.” Kam spoke to themself as they closed the cabinet.  

“Well, nothing new in there.” Kam announced as they walked out of the bathroom and towards the table.” “Yeah, I didn’t see much here either.” Emily said as he joined them. 

“What else could you suspect from him? He thinks there is a group of people waiting to just ambush him and take him to the FBI.” Paul said shrugging his shoulders.  

“Maybe he needs help,” Fran said. 

 “No shit, Fran.” “You don’t need to be mean, Paul. We are all going through it with him missing.” “I’m not worried. It’s his own fault.” 

“Paul, I don’t think it’s fair to say th-” Kam began to speak until Paul interrupted, “Kam, it’s his own fault. We have all been in the same situation as him, and we have helped ourselves to be better. I’m tired of him dragging us down for his own benefit.” Paul started to become aggravated.  

“He has serious mental health problems; we should be there for him the best we can.” Emily calmly said. 

“And do what? Where is he? He’s always calling us selfish. Saying we are never there for him. Even though I bailed him out of jail two fucking times. Always blaming us for his own problems. When we are the only ones who answer his drunken state of mind and cry about how this isn’t a fair life, and how he deserves better. He amounts to nothing in his own life. I’m tired of it. He does nothing for us except mope around and bitch about how his life is a mess. When was he there for our existential crisis!? Getting high? Getting drunk? Suddenly his problems are our problems? Now, look at what he is doing to us. Thinking this is some fucking scavenger hunt. Fuck him!” Paul abruptly stood up as he slammed his hands on the table and stormed out of the apartment.  

“PAUL!” Kam yelled and walked towards the door. 

“Let him be. He needs time for himself. This is hard for everyone.” Emily said.  

“He needs time for himself? He’s the selfish idiot here. Our friend is out there having some sort of mental crisis, and Paul is calling him selfish. What an idiot.” Kam angrily said.  

The room went back to silence. 

-- 

Paul went through the Burger King drive-through for nine-piece chicken fries, a double whopper, two large fries, and a large coke. As he pulled out, he drove down the road to a storage unit where he kept most of his junk that was from his mother or father.  

When he pulled next to his unit, which was a brick red color he parked his car and got out while holding the food. He went to unlock the unit, and when he pulled the door up, he noticed it was dark inside. He sighed, put the food next to a ripped-up emerald, green chaise, and walked toward the metal string that turned on the light. 

“Paul?” 

Paul looked at his helpless friend as he lay on the cold concrete ground. His teal hair disheveled, his black oversize My Chemical Romance tank top stained with what seemed like vomit, and his black cargo pants ripped to holes. The bags under his eyes matched his strained eyes.  

“Yes, J.T.” 

“I feel awful. It’s like my body can’t decide what it wants to feel, so it freaks out on me every time I try to have a peace of mind.” 

“That’s what withdrawals do to you. Been there, done that.”  

“Thank you for helping me, Paul. You’re a great friend.”  

Paul took a deep breath and forced a smug smile, and said, “When this is done, never speak to me again. I never want to see you.”  

“Paul, what are you talking about?” J.T. stuttered, looking at his friend with big doe eyes. 

“I’m done with you. I’m throwing 11 years of friendship. It’s all because of your selfishness. I can’t stand to look at you.” 

“What do you mea-.”  

“I don’t want to hear anything from you. I have been too patient and caring towards you, and you have done nothing for me, or any of us, except be an awful excuse for a person.  When your withdrawals are done, you’re going to go back home, to a clean house, because I will tell your loyal friends to clean out your drug-ridden house. You’re going to get a steady job and figure out how to live life like the rest of us. I have given you too many passes and you have fucked up on every one of them due to your carelessness and ignorance. You’re 35 years old. Stop living a sad and stupid life. Never contact me once you leave this unit. Fuck you, you psychotic bitch.”  

J.T. was in shock as he looked at Paul leave the unit and slamming the garage door shut. Hearing the garage lock, J.T. curled into fetal position and bawled like a child. Being consumed by his own thoughts. Wondering how everything went wrong.