...

I'm here.

'Here' is a strange turn of phrase. On one hand it's as exact of a description I can give, and on the other it's about as abstract as stating existence within a space. You could say something with the exact same sound, rhythm, and timbre as my "I'm here." and mean something entirely different. I could point with my finger and say "Here.", but that only works in analog. This is the sum of me tapping something out one day.

I'm here, and I'm waxing philosophical.

There's a Dr. Seuss story I'm thinking of. An elephant named Horton finds a small plant, and on that plant there's a whole world inside. It's a strange book to consider from a Cosmic Horror perspective... This idea of being born, randomly, as this tiny intelligent life that's subject to the whims of incomprehensibly big creatures -- who mostly don't know about one's existence... it's frightening.

I'm here, and I'm dead to most of the world.

Right now I'm 25, and I've got 2 or 3 physical disabilities. I was in the middle of a, probably hypomanic, project about four years ago when a truck hit and ran me. I wanted to rotoscope myself flying, from footage of me bombing a hill on a skateboard laying on my stomach. I didn't know what I was going to do with the footage of me flying, but I was so miserable at my job that it was all I could think about.

I'm here, and I'm happily unemployed... for the most part.

Conflict of interest. I told my supervisor about my diagnosis in confidence, given he just told me his childhood trauma and all he got diagnosed with, and he fired me shortly after. I said that I got diagnosed with Schizophrenia, and that I take kratom to treat it because it regulates dopamine levels in the brain. He just saw me as another user after that, so I got fired without notice for being "spacey".

I'm here, and it's because I was five days into kratom withdrawal.

Kratom made me derealize, feel like I was floating from scene to scene like a movie that can't decide what en media res scene to pick, and so I got sick of it. I didn't feel like it was anybody else's business that I was quitting, so I toughed it out quietly with a bunch of Vitamin C and Agmatine... Next thing I know, I'm fired after not listening to orders I wasn't given. And I've got to somehow pay $1,000 a month...

I'm here, and I'm digging into both my savings and my good graces with friends and family.

Through Indeed I shot out something like 15 applications. I'm disabled, queer, I just have a highschool diploma, I can't legally drive, and all I have is cleaning experience. I applied for Supplemental Security Income two days ago, so I'm hoping I can get the reacharound from the government while I inevitably work minimum wage somewhere I can barely reach by bus. It's an honest living where I come from...

I'm here, and I'm pretty sure a lot of people would have killed themselves on twelve different occasions by this point.

This isn't to say I'm suicidal -- it's to say I'm illogical. I'm incredibly stubborn. On a purely practical basis, if one truly believes that just a few short steps will solve their every problem, then it's no wonder Albert Camus thought the most important question is "Why don't I kill myself right now?". If it's a matter of steps to take, barely anything intuitive to believe in can compare. Suicide is like a prayer.

I'm here, and I'm chowing down on lentil soup while picking through the Cynic Epistles as I wait for my next job interview.

If somebody has the faith that someone's going to listen when they clasp their hands, and that they're going to help, then that's as good as suicide. If somebody has the faith that blinking twice will butterfly effect into everything turning out okay, then that's as good as suicide. Ideas of death are like ideas of when we clap, and ideas of when we clap are just like ideas of when we blink.

I'm here, and I'm ready to be called "Master" by whoever truly knows my predicament and the gravity of my prophesy that I'll wake up tomorrow.