“Human life is brief and mundane,” the blue humanoid figure on the bright screen of my shimmery pink laptop observed. His vocal tone contrasted wildly with the words he said—it was calm, accepting of the implications of such a statement. I mechanically reach toward my bedside table for my tool of self-destruction and begin to cut into my skin.
I turned to self-harm when I was sixteen years old. It was a temporary escape from all of my problems, from all of my loneliness. I felt that if I could stand the self-inflicted physical pain of metal across my skin, I could easily endure the emotional pain of weeks and months of isolation.
“These people,” he had sighed, “I am tired of being caught in the tangle of their lives.”
My social seclusion …show more content…
Michael and I ended up going steady for a while. He loved comic books and superhero movies, and he was forever nagging me to watch the movie “Watchmen”. I always had the mentality that I had better things to do than to watch some nerdy movie—after all, I could always do it later.
“Life and death are unquantifiable abstracts. Why should I be concerned?”
After a seemingly endless walk home from school, I slammed the front door and barreled up the stairs. I was desperate to escape the cold winter wind and the memory of my even colder peers.
On this particular day, I knew I was close to the end of my patience. Suicidal thoughts were becoming more casual and frequent. I was frantically searching for a reason to …show more content…
Manhattan simply because of his appearance. His fluorescent blue skin shone luminously, filling not only the computer screen but also my bedroom with a sapphire light that bounced off the green and purple walls. He was impossible not to notice.
The things he said soon captivated me as well. His complete apathy toward humanity astounded me, and I find myself agreeing with every word.
Disillusioned with Earth, Dr. Manhattan left to live on Mars—the red planet was no redder than the thick liquid that trickled down my leg. If only I were fortunate enough to disappear.
I slowly lose myself in a haze of self-hatred. My ability to focus quickly fades as my mind screams about my nonexistent worth. It is a separate being that relentlessly beats me until I surrender and admit that the world would be better without me and that I would be better without the world.
Reality finds me again. “Will you smile,” Dr. Manhattan gently asks the young brunette sitting in the dense, rust-colored powder, “If I admit that I was wrong?” He extends his glowing hand to help her stand. “About what?” she asks at the exact time I think the same words. What could he possibly be wrong
I turned to self-harm when I was sixteen years old. It was a temporary escape from all of my problems, from all of my loneliness. I felt that if I could stand the self-inflicted physical pain of metal across my skin, I could easily endure the emotional pain of weeks and months of isolation.
“These people,” he had sighed, “I am tired of being caught in the tangle of their lives.”
My social seclusion …show more content…
Michael and I ended up going steady for a while. He loved comic books and superhero movies, and he was forever nagging me to watch the movie “Watchmen”. I always had the mentality that I had better things to do than to watch some nerdy movie—after all, I could always do it later.
“Life and death are unquantifiable abstracts. Why should I be concerned?”
After a seemingly endless walk home from school, I slammed the front door and barreled up the stairs. I was desperate to escape the cold winter wind and the memory of my even colder peers.
On this particular day, I knew I was close to the end of my patience. Suicidal thoughts were becoming more casual and frequent. I was frantically searching for a reason to …show more content…
Manhattan simply because of his appearance. His fluorescent blue skin shone luminously, filling not only the computer screen but also my bedroom with a sapphire light that bounced off the green and purple walls. He was impossible not to notice.
The things he said soon captivated me as well. His complete apathy toward humanity astounded me, and I find myself agreeing with every word.
Disillusioned with Earth, Dr. Manhattan left to live on Mars—the red planet was no redder than the thick liquid that trickled down my leg. If only I were fortunate enough to disappear.
I slowly lose myself in a haze of self-hatred. My ability to focus quickly fades as my mind screams about my nonexistent worth. It is a separate being that relentlessly beats me until I surrender and admit that the world would be better without me and that I would be better without the world.
Reality finds me again. “Will you smile,” Dr. Manhattan gently asks the young brunette sitting in the dense, rust-colored powder, “If I admit that I was wrong?” He extends his glowing hand to help her stand. “About what?” she asks at the exact time I think the same words. What could he possibly be wrong