There is only deafening silence and the sense of being utterly alone.
He listens to podcasts to feel like he is involved in human conversation.
In school he rarely said a word. When his parents weren’t screaming at each other, the only sounds were the scraping of cutlery against plates. He was sometimes invited to a gathering at someone’s house. It felt like being a fly on the wall in a group of close friends. He was an ethnographer recording exotic experiences in a foreign tribe.
These days, that feeling is called FOMO: the fear of missing out. At its core, it is the understanding that he doesn’t belong anywhere.
He internalized the notion that he is not worth the time. He does not make impositions on people’s busy schedules to avoid wasting their time. There are better friends, more loyal, more interesting, more successful, more competent, more trustworthy than him.
Years ago, he left his job to see if he could find somewhere he could belong. He has been homeless ever since.
He wondered if people might miss him at all. It turns out they didn’t. He was easily replaced.
Every relationship is a transaction. If he has no value to offer, he is considered worthless. Every job interview is another rejection. He doesn’t belong here.
His parents and siblings are religious. If he doesn’t believe in their god, they exclude him from social connection, economic growth, and political participation.
He wonders, What is the point of participating in the perpetuation of such a system of dehumanization and gross indifference?
There is no point to go on.
The eternal silence of nonexistence would be preferable to the chronic, debilitating condition of uselessness and loneliness.
Is this what they mean by suicidal ideation?
Or is this just the human condition?
Another day older and deeper in debt.
A homeless wanderer once said, “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has no place to lay his head.”
“He will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’”
We spend billions of dollars to put a man in space, and then we leave him there. In space no one can hear you scream.
Man begets man, then emotionally abandons his offspring. The child is left to make sense of his nomadic restlessness, wondering why he has never felt at home in his own body, and never belonged anywhere.
He is a stranger in a strange land, estranged from himself, without an identity.
When he locks people out of his life, he imprisons his own soul, incarcerated in solitary confinement.
Masculinity is a death sentence. He sits on death row, counting the moments until his number is called.