I am not insane

It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark. As the shadows slowly blended into the darkness, I could only imagine the horror of being part of the human breed.

If we, humans, were ever to realize that we should not exist, would we dare to face that truth? As I sat there, shivering from the cold, alone and leaning against a freezing block of ice, the only fact I could confirm was that humans should not exist. The voices around me were like a screaming child, looking for its mother. The need to be seen, to be heard, was louder than any scream of joy could ever be. I am not insane.

The slowly disappearing footsteps in the snow in front of me reminded me, once again, of the greed and selfishness humans have created. Because even if the footsteps disappeared, they would always return as new ones—just the same, even following the same pattern. Just like the human breed. We are no different from eachother, other than living theogh different perspectives and timelines. I am not insane.

We are defined by ego and greed. We are defined by selfishness and hope. Yet I could not hope for something better. I could not hope for a warm bed, fresh food, or someone to love me. I could not hope. Because I realized that the joy of being alive could never outweigh the pain of continuing to exist. It could never cover the sorrow we feel, or the burden of breathing. I am not insane.

So, what we did was start believing. Believing in something else, something beyond what we have now. Some believe in an afterlife in heaven and fear hell. Others believe they will be cursed through reincarnation as another species. Others fear doomsday. But sitting there, I could hope for nothing except nothingness. Because we already live in hell. We have already reached the day where nothing can be greater, where every individual on this earth is Satan. I am not insane.

The more I watched people pass in front of me, not even glancing an eye at the loneliness my presence reflected, the more bitterness I felt. Not toward them, but rather for them. Imagine living in the belief that you are worth something, not accepting that time will erase you completely. People don’t care. Nobody does. Especially if you are nobody. Especially if you are me. Because a hundred years after your death, people will only see the damage you left behind, not the greatness you believed you carried—because it never truly existed. I am not insane.

I do not hate you. I do not hate the individual you are. But I hate what you are becoming. I hate that you believe so blindly, and I hate that I still care. Care for something that doesn't truly exist. Humanity. I am not insane

I want to be somebody. I need to be somebody. But I am not. I will always be nobody. I will always feel as if I never existed. It was never about being alone—it was about never being noticed. Every minute, hour, and day was spent observing the misery of existence from a distant, objective place. And I still do, as I sit here, shivering, alone, in the pain of being alive. I am not insane.

Humanity feels like an illness. We are sick. We continue, dragging every living creature along with us, and still call ourselves “good.” Is that the diagnosis? Goodness? Greatness? Or simply pain? Because I see no goodness in the evil we have become. I see no greatness in the pain we cause others. I see that I am not insane.

Because being good is not absolute. There is no reward for those who see good in others. No reward for caring. No reward for existing. We cannot define good or bad. You cannot define it. I cannot define it. Would you call it good or bad that I sit here, freezing, unnoticed? While the same snow covering the traces of the footsteps covers me tightly, making me increasingly invisible to the people around me. Making me slowly disappear. I am not insane.

I used to think that the end of the world would happen like the Big Bang—a large poof, until everything we had ever owned and known disappeared. A place where everything turned into nothing. But I was wrong. I, along with so many others, am wrong. The world will end the day the human breed can no longer recognize itself through its ego and selfishness. And that day is today. I am not insane.

I am simply the opposite of your ego, the opposite of your belief. I am not special. I am nobody—cursed with the awareness that being “right” only matters when enough people agree. And me—no, I can’t seem to know what’s right. I haven’t killed somebody. I haven’t laughed at you. I haven’t judged you. The only sin I commit is rather different, because I am convicted of still being alive, breathing through this thick smoke of air in and out, criticizing human breed that both you and I are a part of. I am not insane.

Sometimes I believe that death is the only escape of the horror we exist in. Because in the end, what did life give you? For me, nothing much but pain amd suffering. Yes, I smile at a joke just like you. I like friends. I like activities. But does it truly matter, when I see everything as a curse? When I see myself as a part of an illness containus to the human breed.

Amd who knows. Maybe the snow was there to make sure I woudnt spread the solution, that every individual fears. Dying. I am not insane.

Cause the shadows slowly blended into the darkness, I could only imagine the horror of being part of the human breed. It was so terribly cold. Snow was falling, and it was almost dark.