Existentialism

The void between what we once knew and what we don't know

Context: When a dear friend suddenly becomes a person you can no longer recognize, someone so vastly and inexplicably different from the incredible person you once knew. And in the worst way possible.

Yet in her transformation, introspection arises.

~~~

Our brains crave knowledge. They always have. Whenever there seems to be a gaping hole in our knowledge, marked by a fragmented understanding between outcome and reason— our brain desperately tries to fill it. It formulates excuses, justifications, conspiracies, firing neurons in a matter of milliseconds to bridge that very gap between outcome and reason. To try and find rationale, a thread of logic, amidst chaos and confusion— where nothing seems to make sense at all— where reason and outcome don't remotely align. We find that everything we once knew, thought, and became mentally accustomed to as the status quo changed so vastly in ways we couldn't imagine were possible.

Yet still, we seek reason.

We seek reason because seeking reason is easier than accepting uncertainty.

My prefrontal cortex dampens these rampant thoughts of mine, reassuring myself that everything she said was nothing short of a mere bluff. Yet its efforts are futile, constantly interrupted by the limbic system with its docile gullibility and burgeoning ability to filter out lies.

The paranoia of believing.

The way it makes me spiral when the details feel so vivid it starts to blur the lines between truth and the latter.

Logic prevails.

Someone so innocent, disconnected, whose entire initial understanding of such topics were built solely on the precedent of me being her friend, has now lapped me in the very thing I thought she never would. It should be alarming, but instead it lands like the opposite of a sugar-coated blow. One that initially seems harsh and esteem-crushing, but beneath the surface, reveals more about the detriments of desperation above all.

You wasted your first time.

And your second.

And your third.

I should pity you. But you've also found company, someone to pay your bills, an experience of a good time. And the way in which you've done so— nothing short of unexpected, unhinged even. The contrast from your initial self is so stark, it's laughable.

It's ironic. It's paradoxical in the worst way possible.

So of course, I question. For my sake.

I pry through psychoanalysis, implying your motives for you, knowing in the back of my mind it was out of desperation, longing, yearning for validation. You deny it, keeping yourself grounded in a reasoning that seems almost rehearsed.

I push back, I don't believe in coincidences.

But when resistance becomes psychologically unsustainable, and my pliant mind built upon false confidence begins to falter, the cracks show. And the realization dawns upon me.

Am I glitch in the system? I feel like a glitch.

People shorter than me, taller than me, skinnier than me, fatter than me, prettier than me, uglier than me, louder than me, quieter than me, sweeter than me, ruder than me— have all found love and companionship— so why not me? Do I just so happen to be an astronomical permutation of qualities that align to make me the most inherently repulsive person who's marked this vast planet? Or am I shielded by an existential force that forbids anyone to look me in the eye and string together that one three word sentence, the kind thats a confession of a soul yearning the same way mine does?

Am I merely unlovable?

These notions boil my blood with inexplicable fervor, one that generates vehement hatred and contempt for the mechanisms that govern this world, all the way down to the very alignment of the stars.

Or was it indeed the former?

Not being nearly desperate, masochistic, or risk-indifferent enough. Not being so cavalier about the imminent degradation of my self-respect to put myself out there in ways you do.

But deep down inside, I am no better.

I may be contained— a fictitious facade of sophistication and standards— but I too, am a glutton for sweet words and praise. Clinging on to a string of flimsy promises of intoxication from some random older guy, and such of the sort.

It's inward. It's indeed different, but also the same.

Yet now, I no longer recognize you when I look you in the eyes. You aren't the person you once were. Every fiber of you has fundamentally changed and morphed into something I can no longer call a friend of mine. Your values and morals have been swiftly eroded, your demeanor; a foreign entity.

You were once company worth keeping, emphasis on the "were."

Past-tense.

Because now that's no longer the reality. Even if every word you told me was false, your quintessential desire to appear in such a way disgusts me. There exists no version of this wherein you remain the same person I was once acquainted with, and the one whom which I can continue on this trajectory.

We will part ways soon— till then I will savor you. Partly for a selfish motive I admit, but another that still clings onto a thin thread of what we were. Back when we were friends and everything made sense; our dynamic aligned with the status quo. Yet for now, I will live with the inner resentment and slowly detach.

"I hope you're satiated with the hedonistic lifestyle you've created for yourself"— I utter in a tone laced with judgement.

~~~~~