Remember the Fresher’s creative writing contest? Here’s another winning entry in the “depressing” category.
Lonely Lila, Alone Alli
How are you? I’m not in the best state these days. That’s not an unusual occurrence for me, but this time it’s especially bad. I wish I could put it all down in this mail, but there is now way that my angst will fit into it. When I finish, this letter will still be less than a lousy nibble in the gazillion terabytes of the vast vortex of cyberspace.
So it’s 11 9.m.; I’m sitting in my room. The door’s closed; the curtains are drawn tight. Only the blue glow of the computer screen is marring the blackness. I’m pretending as always that I’m alone by choice; pretending that I’ve shut the door of my room against a house which is not silent and empty and cold. I’m bobbing my head in time to the music pouring out of the speakers as if I’m not just using it to drown out the quiet; as if I really enjoy it.
I haven’t spoken to a real person in two days; I’ve just had thirty-second phone conversations with people about nothing in particular. At this point though, I’m grateful for even that much. I am tired of being in this suspended state of forced solitude, but I’ve been like this for so long that I can’t break the cycle. People make me anxious now; they make me unsure of myself; they make me hate indiscriminately. I’ve lost the ability of making meaningless conversation and so I don’t fit in anywhere.
Oh no, sorry, I do fit in somewhere; into the dark corners of classrooms, of houses, of open spaces where no dark corners exist. I’m worse than a wallflower, because I’m invisible; and I can’t avail any ‘perks’ of being the same as observing people live their happy, normal, phony lives gives me no joy.
I write to you in hope that you understand; that you care. I write, because you listen when no one even bothers to ask if I’m okay. I write to you so that I can feel less pathetic; but that one feeling never fades. Because, no matter what, you’re part of the act. You’re the finale of the great pretense that is my life, Lila. I lie to myself everyday that you’re not just another email account I created on a different domain. Truth is: you don’t exist any more than I do in the real world.
Anyway, it’s getting late now, I should go. I’m expecting an email from my friend. She needs help, she gets really depressed and alone sometimes.