by Mr. Midnight
The dying process begins the minute we are born, but it accelerates during dinner parties.
|Words approx.: 740
They say that the dying process begins the minute we are born. But we are not all born equal. If they told you that, they lied straight to your face. I’ve come to know a lot more now in my forty years of life. For I was born ‘an undesirable.’ And no that isn’t some Hunger Games, Victorian era, fantasy novel reference. I mean I was born into this world ugly.
And lying has become a way of life. Dishonesty. I lie to people. People lie to me. Everyone lies to themselves. So I have to wonder to myself, take an uneducated assumption. I never went to college, fear and social anxiety made sure of that. Fear of who I am, and society, being wholly unaccepting of my kind, The Undesirables. But even without a degree, I ask, what then really is lying? If lying is something we do so common that for some of us it’s like breathing. Is it really so bad? It can be. Parents tell us not to lie, not because they wish that we would never ever tell one, but rather they tell us not to lie because doing so is like playing with fire, messing around with a loaded gun. Much like the one that is in my hand, and by now, you’ve guessed it. These are the ravings of a dead man.
But I was always dead, don’t you see? The moment I was born, I was handed a death sentence, a promise. Not with an exact date on it, but worse, an undetermined one. A death that might be handed to me or one that I might choose for myself. But, for sure, it is a final destination that goes beyond the simple notion of biological death. No, a fate worse than oblivion is not ever being able to live.
I guess you could say that the last straw, the one that broke this camel's back, was Thanksgiving. How ironic that such a holiday meant to inspire appreciation, only caused me pain and dread through interrogation. When are you going to move out? Do you have a girlfriend? Have you found another job yet? Why won’t you go back to school? Why can’t you make more of yourself? Why are you so fat? Why is your face covered in pock marks and pimples? Why are your teeth so far apart? Why don’t you have any friends? Why do you constantly have the urge to fill the void in your heart with food? Why are you always drowning your mind in booze and video games?
When I was born, I wasn’t born rich or middle class even. I wasn’t born pretty, tall, skinny or strong. When I was old enough to think, experience birthdays and holidays, I had no idea about any of it. No one told me that, once I came of age, that everyone around me, my family, would stop by with a list. They are like the ones terrorists use. A list of demands, requirements, necessities. I wonder, for the last few moments that I can, what my life would have been like if I knew how to qualify for ‘life’ having and living one according to society's standards. By doing so, by reproducing, being acquainted with a few ‘friends’ would I have been accepted? Even if I weighed 300lbs? Even if my black skin didn’t lead to gapped teeth and a face not even my mother could love?
All I do now is lie and suffer. I lie about friends. I’ve made up fake names, locations and whole families. I’ve lied about my virginity. I’ve lied about what’s gotten me fired and why it's so hard to find work. At this point it’s like I'm expected to lie, to take the burden off of those who live a normal life.
I am a dead man. My job is to lie to the living about why I even exist.
Before I make my escape from this world, and the life I was born into, I will tell the truth - I’m already dead anyway, right?
My name was Keith. I am a bi-sexual, Transgender. I bought this gun a couple of decades ago to have protection from bullies. Ma, I'm sorry for the mess I'm about to leave. I am sorry to my family that I couldn’t check all your boxes. I am sorry God that I couldn’t hang on any longer.