Scared to Death to Live

You wake up, thankful it was just a dream. No, wait, it wasn’t. This is reality now. This has been reality for a year. Yet it’s still not right. It’s still not normal. It never will be. 

You try to stop thinking about it, try to push it from your mind. You have homework to do. You sit down at your desk, open your laptop like you do every day, check email and browse a few websites like you do every day, then go to do your homework online, like you do, every single day. 

You write your name, then you come to the date. What was the date? What day was it? Were you even sure what month it was? You just can’t tell. Every godforsaken day is the same. Wake up, do school work, eat, shower, waste time, then eat again, then go back to bed and do it all over again the next day. And the next day. And the next day. 

You hate it. 

You want to cry and scream and die and you feel like you could kill someone because you’re so alone, especially since no one understands you. No one even likes you. They hate you, and your kind because you aren’t one of them. You question things. 

So what does that make you? A conspiracy theorist? No. You don’t think the Earth is flat. You don’t think the government is hiding aliens from the people. You don’t think people are eating babies. But people still use that word with you, don’t they? Just because you ask questions. You think too much. Get wrapped up in the wrong things, they tell you. 

When did society come to the sudden agreement that freedom is bad and fear is good? When did society come to the agreement that you’re selfish for wanting to live? When did everyone agree that people like you are evil? 

You try so hard, think about their side, why they feel that way, but you just can’t see it. You can’t understand why people treat you like this, why people hate you and wish you dead for thinking differently. 

You don’t understand why you aren’t allowed to live, why your very body, your very breath is now somehow a danger to people. You don’t understand why the paranoid can’t just stay in if they don’t want to be around people like you. Why you must live your life according to their fear. 

You know in your heart that you’re not reckless, that you’re not hurting anyone with your bare face or your presence, yet they run from you, try to silence you, and over and over again, you hear the words “selfish” and “conspiracy theorist” even though you aren’t pushing any conspiracy at all, just asking questions. Since when is an opinion wrong? Since when is an opinion dangerous? You can’t help the way you feel. You’re not a bad person. You’re not trying to kill people. You just want to live. But that’s too much to ask anymore. Just two weeks, just a month, just a few more months, just a year, that you’ve lost in your life. “People are dying!” they shout, as if you don’t know that, as if you are unfeeling, as if you don’t care, as if that is anything new. As if it’s all your fault.

Why can’t you live in Sweden? Why do you have to live in this place, this world, that values the collective over the individual? That lashes out and beats people who aren’t like them, claiming self defence because breathing is now illegal. 

You mean no harm. But they don’t get it. They think they can tell you how to live your life, telling you you’re not oppressed, when you are told with whom you can be, where you can be, what you are to do, what you are to wear, how you are to live your life all in the name of “precautions.” But you know this is medical insanity. Something in you tells you this isn’t right. People just don’t act this way. 

“Don’t go down the rabbit hole” they tell you, even though these thoughts came from within and not from anyone telling you this. “You live in an echo-chamber!” they scream, while every day, you are accosted with people telling you that you are wrong and have no one to acknowledge you. 

"Lives are on the line!" But aren't they always? Is there anything in life that doesn't involve risk? After all, we will all die someday.

You’re called “disrespectful” for not giving in, for thinking in a different way, for having your own opinion. 

And you’re so goddamn lonely. You try to stay occupied. You go for a walk, you watch TV, you sleep. You think maybe you’ll try something new, maybe you’ll grow a garden or take up the violin. Maybe you’ll learn a new language or find a penpal. Nothing helps. You are full of nothing, full of emptiness, and you feel it in your throat when the tears well in your eyes, and you feel it as your stomach turns in disgust at the world. You feel it relentlessly pounding and throbbing in your head, and you feel it in your heavy heart when you wish you were dead. And every day makes it feel worse, this hell inside of you that you just can’t be freed from. 

Maybe one day you’ll find someone who doesn’t hate you for who you are. Maybe you’ll even fall in love. Maybe you’ll have kids. Maybe you’ll have a life much less pathetic and worthless than this. Wait, no, scratch that. This isn’t life. This isn’t living. This is existing. 

Maybe you’ll write about how you feel one day, but then you remember that no one would allow you to, no one would listen, they would just call you petty bad names and if you do write about it, they’ll ban you. All for wanting to live. 

You think how if you would write your feelings a year before this happened, everything would be fine and you wouldn't get backlash. But things are different now, and you are forced into this against your own will.

In the end, you feel bad for these people. So afraid of dying that they are scared to death to live. You wouldn’t mind so much if they didn’t force it on you. Maybe one day they’ll learn and treat you like a real human. Maybe. 

They tell you you’re mad at the wrong people, but you just can’t be mad at people wanting only to be free. That’s all you want, after all. It’s not like you’re asking a huge favor. But no, slavery it is, being a prisoner of your own home. 

Screw it, you’ll do your homework tomorrow. 

So you go through the rest of your day, until you get to sleep and forget about it for a while. That is, of course, if it doesn’t creep its way into your dreams which it’s been known to do. Maybe tonight you’ll be lucky and get some rest in order to face the next day of existing and being but an object in the world. 

So you go to sleep. 

You wake up, thankful it was just a dream. No, wait, it wasn’t. This is reality now. This has been reality for a year. Yet it’s still not right. It’s still not normal. It never will be.