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Today I Kill My Neighbor
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Today I Kill My Neighbor
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As I take a seat inside my computer room, a very familiar and comforting environment, I notice that my neighbor is doing work in his back garden. Nearly every day I see him doing something noisy and disruptive out there. And too often does he look into my computer room all the way from his back yard. He is probably in his sixties, and it seems that his children moved out some years ago. I don't really know anything about his personality or personal life, but I do know that I hate him. He is everything I despise about this world rolled up into the consciousness of a single human being. Aside from my typical dreams of being chased and finding large quantities of money on the ground, I often have this one where I'm sitting in my neighbors house for dinner. In this dream I talk to him and his family in a calm and friendly manner, and we finally come to terms with one another. We talk about the conflict between us, but before I can come to a proper resolution his wife walks out on me. Then his children follow their mother, and finally the man himself decides he's had enough of me. They leave me before we really have a chance to connect or to set things right. I have never actually talked to this man, yet I know that there is some sort of internal conflict existing between us. He judges me every time I sit inside this room, and because of that I feel hostility towards him. In those moments it's like I can tell exactly what he's thinking. I'm not delusional in the sense that I can directly experience his thoughts and feelings. But I learned a while ago that it's easy to recognize any negative judgements somebody feels towards you, particular through their expressions or body language. I've put up with his judgement for such a long time now that it's beginning to wear away at me. My house didn't come with curtains in the computer room, so sometimes I create my own make-shift curtains just to block him out. This man is everything I hate about the world and the people in it. I can already feel my aggression and aggravation towards him coming to a peak, even so early in the morning. For as long as I've been a hermit I've wished that he would out of his house, or even die in a car accident. That may sound nasty, but this room is the only place in the world that brings me pleasure. It is the only place where I can understand the comfort and safety the average person feels on a regular basis... And he is trying to destroy it.
I started going through my usual escapism routines by watching a film, playing a video game and watching a wide array of internet videos. But something just doesn't feel right today, like as the only pleasure in my life has suddenly been sapped away. My escapism euphoria has been present for my entire four years as a shut in, so what would cause it to cease so suddenly? There have been days when this pleasure has weakened in intensity, but never has it left my entirely. On top of my feelings of anxiety and isolation, I also have to deal with this new-found emptiness. My life has been a mess for four years now... Actually, I'm not sure if I could consider my life a mess when it's practically nonexistent. Both my life and death with have little impact on those who know me, and when I do die the world will remain unchanged. People will go through their daily lives without ever knowing or caring who I was or what I've been through. When I first became a hermit I genuinely believed that it was only a transitional phase and that those painful feelings would go before the end of the year. But there is not a shred of hope left in me, and it feels like as though I'm dragging my feet through daily life. It's hard to get out of bed in the morning when you're daily existence is painful. I install and boot up a new first-person shooter that I downloaded overnight. I've explored the genre so thoroughly that I have to resort to any scraps or left overs to fill my time. It seems like a decent game, but hardly anything I would support with what little money I have remaining. Playing through the intro and tutorial of a game always feels like such a chore: I just don't have the energy or patience to learn anything new these days. I just want to play games that are challenging but with simplistic mechanics and minimal keys to press. I understand that the intro to Half-life has been emulated and copied to the point where it now seems obligatory for every first-person shooter to do something similar. But right now I just want to experience the catharsis of killing virtual enemies as soon as the game loads. I want to see the the recoil and kickback of these virtual weapons, and I'm always fascinated by the visual effects used to show bullet wounds. But even after the tutorial and introduction of this particular fps, something still doesn't feel right. I've played through at least a couple of hours but it's not making any difference. I glance over the top of my computer at my neighbor, and is in one of his usual routines of driving a ride-on lawn mower. I bet you that any second he is going to turn his head and look directly at me in disgust. He's been out there the entire day so far, so maybe it's his fault that I can't enjoy myself. Who or what else could possibly be taking away the one thing that's precious to me? I know that he hates everything about me and would love nothing more than to take away my final pleasure in life. I've been on a slow downward spiral for some time now, and it's important that I avoid indulging in any irrational thoughts. The psychologist I used to see told me something like that in our first few sessions. You know, I haven't even gone out my own front door for a week. In the past i've at least went out to get the mail or answer the phone, but for this particular week i've decided to cut myself off completely.
I really don't want to think about the past though. It hurts me to remember a time when I actually had hope of any sort of improvement. Eventually I accepted that there is just isn't a place in the world for me, and even if there was I've dug too far down to get back out of the hole. Stepping outside my front door is big achievement for me, but for the average person it is child's play. I am so far off from the average person that there's no way I could ever fill the role of 'normal' again. My thought and beliefs are crystal clear to me, but I recognize have nonsensical some of it would seem to a normal person. Some people feel like an outcast in society or in their friendship group, yet they are still capable of having a life and making something of themselves. And they don't realize just how lucky they are that they even have that. Every night I wish to any sort of god or deity that I will be changed to the point where I will feel acceptable, and then I can become normal again. I wish to wake up in the morning and see a normal face, one that is flawless and without scars. Every morning I am disappointed to see this mangled version of a face, and everytime it raises the same question; Why did this happen to me when I've been a good person my entire life? Most people are insensitive and cruel and will never appreciate what they have, but I have been rendered a freak through the chaos and random nature of the world. There are many forms of pain and suffering that a person has to endure in this world, but mine is one that few people will ever understand. Nobody will ever show my sympathy or empathy because they can't understand how intense my anxiety really is. Human being would rather make quick judgement towards one another, and right now It feels as though nobody is on my side. Before the accident I was still an introverted loser who had minimal interaction with other people. But I was still a normal person who believed he had some sort of purpose or reason to be on this earth. How could I ever have been so foolish to adopt any sort of idealism or hope? Even my high school friends have moved on from me because I don't find their perception of an ideal friend. I am too out of place in their ordinary and stable lives, and they probably think that associating with me could derail their own lives. As I stare in both fascination and disgust at my neighbor he suddenly turns around and our eyes meet. Even though there is a reasonable distance between us these moments are some of the worst I have to put up with in my life. At this very moment I know that he can see the scars, even if I try to obscure them by hiding my head behind the computer screen. He's seen them before, and all he wants is to satiate his curiosity and confirm once again what I am; a worthless shut-in.
I have to get out of this room before I have another bloody panic attack. He knows that I haven't been outside for a week, and I can tell that he hates me because of it. My parents gave up on me a long time ago, so the only opinion remaining that I have to care about is his. The only person who's perspective matters inside the comfort of my own home is his, and he uses that power against me. I've put off doing the grocery shopping for two weeks now, and there's barely anything in my cupboard or fridge. Maybe I should use this new emptiness in my favor: as a motivation to get out of this house and get the grocery shopping finished for the week. Before I have the chance to reconsider I sprint towards the front door like a professional athlete and open it dramatically. I step outside and close the door behind me, and for the first time in a while I feel the sun on my face. I'd forgotten how much I love that feeling, yet I still avoid being in the sun because of how harsh it is on my scars. It makes them look more prominent and unappealing then they usually would in artificial lighting conditions. I've got to get to my car quickly before anybody sees my scars in these lighting conditions. I start walking without a second of hesitation, and already my heart is beating quickly and my head feels light. I try to look at the road and other houses without raising too suspicion, and much to my relief I can't see anybody else around. I usually do my grocery shopping just before they close at midnight, but luckily the store is also empty in the middle of the day (with the exception of elderly people who have retired). The short drive to the grocery store feels like it expected it to; awkward and embarrassing. Whenever another car drives beside me or stops at the traffic lights I try to block off as much of my face as possible. I usually pretend to brush my hair or rest my head on my hand, but if I'm feeling particularly anxious I will resort to more drastic measures to ensure my scars are hidden. In the past i've covered the driver's side window with a t-shirt, but I haven't done that in a while because my experience was that it only drew more attention. On the way I can see a number of people judging me, but I drive by so quickly that they don't have time to fully exploit my vulnerability. As I expected there's mostly elderly people walking into the grocery store, which means this moment shouldn't be too difficult. When nobody is close to my car I will open my door and will have to confront my fear of the outside world again. I can still get pretty anxious driving from place to place, but it's nothing compared to walking past another person and being seen at a close distance.
All my quirky behaviors are done to ensure that I block off people's vision of my scars or to make them better then they really are. But here I am in plain sight with the sun on the my face, and once I go inside the other customers will be in spitting distance. When I completely isolate myself for a week or more I forgot just how much I've been made to suffer. Often I've wished that playing on my computer could be my entire existence, that I could be in a different reality devoid of people and with the only thing I love. If I could just spend the rest of my life alone with escapism then the scars wouldn't matter in the slightest. My anxiety about my scars has dominated my life for four years, and it just doesn't seem fair. I don't care if I seem pathetic in saying this, but I am to weak and sensitive to overlook the judgement of others. I am not strong enough to ignore those judgmental expressions in their eyes because I actually do care what they think. If I can't be accepted in this world, then what sort of a life is actually open to me? I only have anxiety and panic attacks because people do care about what they see with their eyes, and I'm always being lumped with unrelated negative personal qualities. I understand that the scars are unpleasant to look at, because I too find them to be visually insulting. But there's no reason for them to assume that I'm some sort of freak, as though I decided to carve up my own face with a kitchen knife. They assume that I did something to bring it upon myself or that it's a representation of personal qualities. I hate human being with everything that I am. I hate their ignorance and simple-mindedness and the indifference to my suffering. I made a fool of myself inside the grocery store because it was hard for me to act normal. When I'm in this sort of mindset it's hard for me not to resort to unnatural body movements and strange behavior. But it was rendered even more difficult because I have nothing at home to look forward to now. That feeling of emptiness might be gone by tomorrow, but right now the only thing that keeps me alive is absent. I let out a huge sigh of relief as I exited the grocery store with shopping bags in hand, and now I can have a proper meal as well. But as I walk towards my car I notice something that could make this day even worse. That tiny speck of satisfaction I felt from finishing the grocery shopping is gone. Once again I realize how idiotic I am to expect that anything could go right in my life. Two young women are walking towards me and both of them are staring straight at my scars.
And there's no way for me to walk in a different direction without looking suspicious, and my hands are too full with shopping bags to pretend I'm brushing my hair. I can't think of anything worse than this; two attractive females looking at my scars within a couple of meters distance and in natural daylight. For a second I could feel this hope that maybe they would be different. Maybe they wouldn't care about the scars or would avert their gaze and pretend they never saw me in the first place. But then I heard the last sound in the world I wanted to hear... laughter. They were like any of the interchangeable and nasty girls from high school, and now they also wanted to see if they could break me. They stared at me like I was some sort of freak, no, actually worse than that. They let me know that I wasn't even good enough to be considered a human beings, that I am the lowest of the low. I couldn't hear most of the words that they muttered to themselves, which was probably an intentional way of raising my anxiety. But the one word that I did catch was 'ewwww'. And that was all that I needed to know to confirm that my life shouldn't go on for much longer. I shouldn't even be on this earth, and I'm angry that I'd even let myself live for this long. How could anybody expect me to go through this on a daily basis? When I get the first thing I'm going to do is put my CZ 75 handgun to my head and see if I will finally have the guts to do it. I scraped together all the money I could from the allowance that my parents used to send me, and decided to spend it on a handgun about a years and a half ago. I've tested myself many times ever since I first purchased my firearm, but I've yet to go through with the deed. I liked the feeling of putting the barrel to the side of my head and dry firing it. I liked the freedom that It gave me, and it was a relief to know that no matter how hopeless or pointless I was I still had the power to take my own life. But my escapism euphoria has provided just enough motivation to live and is the only reason I've even made it to this point. And if it is not going to return tomorrow I don't think I could bare to live another day. I deserve better treatment from this world. I don't deserve to be ridiculed or bullied, but that hardly matter in such a cruel and hostile world. I am proof that there is no justice, destiny or balance and that suffering doesn't always have a purpose. Psychological treatment and medications never helped me overcome my anxieties, and now I'm more certain than ever that I am a lost cause.
When I returned home I threw myself onto my bed and tears began to roll down my eyes. I rarely cried because of how tough things were outside. Instead I was crying because I realize what a wash my entire life has been. What if I was doomed from birth to live a pathetic life with nobody in it? I've often clung to fantasies that I was somebody else or that I could've been important or famous if it weren't for the accident. The phone starts to ring, but I haven't it in about a month so there's no reason for me to start now. I wonder who it could be though? Maybe my parents have decided to check up on me like they used to, which is doubtful because I think they'd rather I just starve and rot away in this house. Or maybe it's just somebody trying to sell my something, I couldn't really care less either way. As I stared at the stains on the ceiling and the remains of a squashed spider I drifted off into a light sleep. When my eyes opened up again I was surprised I'd even slept at all, but my clock seemed to tell me that I was out of it for about an hour and forty five minutes. I still feel drained and empty, but at least I've regained a feeling of stability. At least finished my grocery shopping for this week and can be free for another week. I move back into my computer room to give that first-person shooter another try, but my computer has turned off and the screen remains black. Maybe it over-heated and decided to turn off, which wouldn't be surprising given how hard i've been pushing it. For nearly three weeks I've been keeping my computer on day and night, and overnight I let it download whatever games or films I've taken an interest in. I try everything that somebody with only a basic understanding of computer would do, but nothing It's still not going to switch back on. This can't be happening at a time like this, it shouldn't! Why does everything is life go sour when you need it the most. I dropped to my knee's and begged in a similar fashion to how I do at the end of each day, and wished for life to be given back to my computer. I push the power button again, but still nothing is happening. If there is a god then I curse you and everything you have created. All I want is this little bit of relief from a tough day and you won't even give it to me. This has to be the last straw because what else am I going to do if my computer really is dead? I hadn't backed up any of my save games or files, and I'm not sure if I have enough money to afford another high-end computer. I've only had this one for seventeen months now, and already it's decided to die on me. Wait a second, it's my fault that my computer is dead. I pushed it further than is reasonable, so it's understandable that I should give up on me
I know that this sounds insane, but what if it was my neighbor. What if he wanted to see my suffer and squirm after cutting off my only enjoyment in life. What if he broke into my house and ruined my computer just to make my life more miserable than it is. I recognize how unlikely it is, yet I still feel all my frustration being directed at him. I've never thought that I could actually maim or kill another human because I've been an introverted and kind person my entire life. Now look where that nice and thoughtful person has ended up. I can't believe it's actually been four years of this kind of existence. Maybe I should just wait until I can afford a new computer and watch television instead; but realistically I know that I hate watching television. For such a long time I've just wanted relief from my problems and anxieties. After my therapy sessions made no difference I resorted to wishing away my problems. But I'm not deserving or worth anything like that. Nobody is going to save me, and there's only so long such an existence could be maintained. Maybe this really is the moment where I kill myself, maybe this is that final push I needed. I decided to sleep on everything that has happened during the day, but I promised myself that If things were the same by the morning that it was time to put that CZ 75 to use. I woke up several times during the night, and unfortunately I experienced and remembered that same dream. It unraveled exactly the same as it had in the past, except for at the end. As my neighbor left the table to join his wife and offspring I leaped out of my seat and grabbed his shoulder. He turned around and stared into my eyes with an intensity I'd never experienced before. He looked different to his real world counterpart, and his eyes were a shape that didn't quite look human. I woke up before the dream could come to any real conclusion, but as I lay flat on my bed with sweat all over my body It was like he was still there with me. I half expected him to burst into my room and attack me, to finish off what he has started in the dream. It took me over seventy minutes to return to sleep, and I woke up with even less energy than yesterday. I went through the usual routines; get dressed, eat breakfast, brush teeth and start playing a video game. But when I walked into the computer room all I saw was a black screen; I'd almost forgotten how impossible my usual routine had become. I feel as isolated and as lonely as any person is capable of in this moment, and I don't even have escapism to drown my sorrows.
Then I looked over my computer again and saw him staring at me. He looked away and pretended he never noticed me in the first place, but I just can't take it anymore. I don't know if he sabotaged my computer or not, but I want to do unspeakable things to that man. Never has my head been so full of violent thoughts in a single moment, and it's about time that I did something to let him know how I really feel. Today I will kill myself with a 9x19mm Parabellum round to the temple. Today I will finally find relief from all the suffering that I've gone through in the last four years. I will finally accept my life as trivial, and can make the world a better place without me. I want to end my life full to brim with hatred and misanthropy, and I wish that I could hand out a piece of my misery to every other human before I leave. I wish I could give them just a taste of what I've gone through, which in itself could be enough to have a significant negative impact on their own lives. I wish that a nuclear war would happen tomorrow and that nor human being would be left alive. I will commit suicide with hatred in my mind and in my heart because of how you have treated me. But even better than that, I plan on taking one of you with me. I will end the life of another human life before I take my own and will ruin the existence of everybody who loves him. In that moment before I squeeze the trigger he will see how wrong he was to judge me and how I'm not just some pathetic freak to be trodden over. Maybe I will be in newspapers and internet articles saying what a monster I was and how crazy i've become. But never has anything made more sense to me then this. I have a new level of clarity that I've never had before, and I don't want to delay things for a single moment longer. Today I will take my handgun and load in a full magazine. Today I will walk up to the fence with my sights steady on my target. Today I kill my neighbor.
And I didn't want to wait much longer for it either, it almost gave me a giddy excitement. And I'm sure that it's because I'm violent or a bad person, this decision completely makes sense given the circumstances. I grabbed my CZ 75 handgun and loaded in a magazine with exactly sixteen 9mm cartridges. I loved feeling the weight of the gun and trying to steady my hands as I aim down the sights. I racked to slide to put a round into the chamber and ensure that the safety was off. My heart is beating faster than even the strongest panic attacks I've experienced and my mind is unfocused, but I have to do it now in case I lose my motivation too quickly. I quickly went to wash my hands and carelessly placed the game near the sink. I couldn't help but look into the mirror for one last time, just to acknowledge how bad the scars really are. Just to accept what a freak I really on at least some basic level. I dried off my hands and picked up the CZ 75, deciding not to spend any more than a couple of seconds in front the mirror. My walk is confident, and even though I haven't been to a firing range in years I still feel confident I can hit my target. Actually, I should call him closer so that I can shoot with only a couple of meters between us. Handguns are a lot harder to use accurately then how they are portrayed in most films and video games. Not to mention the fact that I've never fired this handgun or any gun at a real person before. I tried to ignore the creeping doubt that I might miss all of my shots even at a close range, and re-assured myself by saying that I had fifteen rounds for him and only one needed for me. Walking down the steps into my back garden felt like an eternity. It's the most surreal experience I've ever had, and It felt like as though my legs were walking without my consciously controlling them. I walked up to the fence with my handgun in hand and resting just behind my leg so it would remain out of sight. And a thousand questions and uncertainties suddenly rushed into my head. What if he notices my gun or gets suspicious before he get's in range? What if I'm too afraid to shoot myself even after I kill my neighbor? What If people demonize me and think that I was some kind of psychopath, when really I'm a good person who just a victim of my circumstances.
And something else suddenly hit me: In order to get him into shooting range I will need to overcome the very thing I fear most in life. I will be calling him close enough to see every hideous detail of my facial scars just so that I can kill him. Rather than be put off be the irony I think it actually adds a certain something to the moment. I almost left out a birth of laughter, but did everything in my power to keep it in. After the thought passed I decided that it was time. This is the point of no return, and if he doesn't die after the first shot then I need to finish him off.
'Hey!' I shouted towards him with my voice crackling.
He seems busy loading something into his truck, but I'll try a couple more time.
'Hey!' I shouted again but with more clarity and confidence in my voice.
His head turned to investigate the noise, and then it happened. His eyes connected with mine just like they had in the dream. His eyes were those of a normal human, but the intensity in them was even worse then how they were in that horrid dream. All the confidence I had was wiped out within a single, quick moment, and my mind was screaming at me to turn around whilst still hiding my gun and go back inside. His took his first step towards me, and that's when I realized I could no longer do it. I swiftly turned my body whilst avoiding eye contact, and as I turned I moved the handgun from the back of my leg to the front. I walked up the steps as fast as I could without actually running and forced myself not to look back. I ran into my bedroom and slammed the door behind me. Countless tears and forming in my eyes and rolling down my cheeks, and nothing makes any sense to me. I took out the magazine and racked the slide to eject the round in the chamber. I just dropped my body onto the floor and lay there staring at the ceiling as I had so many times before. Had he noticed my gun as I turned around? Can I still find it in myself to commit suicide today? I'm not even sure If I have it in my to shoot my neighbor after all. Maybe it was just a fantasy all along that I stuck to because of my frustration. I knew that I was too shaken up to actually do it, but I wanted to believe that it was still going to happen. Today is not going to be my final day, yet a large part of me wants to be. So this is what my existence has boiled down to... An endurance run. Maybe these last four years have only been one big endurance run. Was I doomed to live such a petty life ever since the accident? Maybe I'm at the very tail end the endurance run, and now all that remains is those last few days to get through. I'm not sure when I will kill myself, but I do know that it must happen sometimes soon. In a movie a character's weaknesses become a driving point for interesting encounters with other people or conflict that are overcome in meaningful ways. But I am going to die as a worthless hermit, just a tiny speck who will be quickly forgotten by anybody who still remembers me. I am not going to be saved by anybody and no wish I ever make will be granted, all I get to do is live through these last few days before it becomes all too much. I will die alone in the only place I can function properly, and in those last moments you wont' find a shred of idealism or happiness in me. In the past I felt like I was a victim and that the world had done a major injustice to me. I assumed that I deserved a second chance at life, that my suffering wouldn't just lead to something better. I'm not actually sure anymore whether I deserve any better. Every second someone is suffering badly, and if they aren't going to be saved then why would I? My life has mostly been a miserable one, and somehow nastier and thoughtless people have been given better opportunities than I have. I am disappointed with my the outcome of my life and the pain i've been forced to live with, but that's all I'm going to get. I suppose that all that I deserve,
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THE END
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THE END
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