[Paper Diary, Private]
I intend to die.
That looks terribly bald, on the page like that. It requires explanation, even if it's just for myself.
I've outlived my time by two thousand years. That fact's caught up to me- and I won't forget it. This is not when I should have died. I should have died back when civilization was Rome and togas. Failing that, I should have died during the Black Death. Or perhaps in one of the wars. But I stayed on. And... I find I wish I hadn't.
Perhaps it's merely that I'm caught in a morass of self-pity. That's most likely the case. I don't want to live without my spirits, getting older but not aging. Tom said, once, if my condition wasn't fixed within the year, he'd let Hermes possess him for the day instead. But I would prefer that- if I don't die because I left the hospital early- he simply let me go. I don't know what would happen, should I break my deal with Hermes. Perhaps I'd die then, aged two thousand years in a second.
Perhaps I'd age normally. Which is a thought that worries me even more than staying forever young- I don't wish for my body to match my mind. I don't want to deal with those infirmities. I've seen more than my share of old people, damaged and broken and fragile. And it's a thought that revolts me. You respect your elders because otherwise you could break them.
Everyone says I should live for Tom, that I should stay alive so that he won't be left heartbroken and alone without me. I love him, I really do. But it's only been a few months. An attachment that quick... he won't forget it, but it will fade. It has to. He's not going to understand, and he never will, why this hurts so much.
I hate being fragile. I hate being useless. I hate it that nobody needs me for anything beyond 'being who I am'. I hate that people won't let me go and I so desperately want to.
But I don't need permission. And all I can do is apologize.
I'm sorry.
That looks terribly bald, on the page like that. It requires explanation, even if it's just for myself.
I've outlived my time by two thousand years. That fact's caught up to me- and I won't forget it. This is not when I should have died. I should have died back when civilization was Rome and togas. Failing that, I should have died during the Black Death. Or perhaps in one of the wars. But I stayed on. And... I find I wish I hadn't.
Perhaps it's merely that I'm caught in a morass of self-pity. That's most likely the case. I don't want to live without my spirits, getting older but not aging. Tom said, once, if my condition wasn't fixed within the year, he'd let Hermes possess him for the day instead. But I would prefer that- if I don't die because I left the hospital early- he simply let me go. I don't know what would happen, should I break my deal with Hermes. Perhaps I'd die then, aged two thousand years in a second.
Perhaps I'd age normally. Which is a thought that worries me even more than staying forever young- I don't wish for my body to match my mind. I don't want to deal with those infirmities. I've seen more than my share of old people, damaged and broken and fragile. And it's a thought that revolts me. You respect your elders because otherwise you could break them.
Everyone says I should live for Tom, that I should stay alive so that he won't be left heartbroken and alone without me. I love him, I really do. But it's only been a few months. An attachment that quick... he won't forget it, but it will fade. It has to. He's not going to understand, and he never will, why this hurts so much.
I hate being fragile. I hate being useless. I hate it that nobody needs me for anything beyond 'being who I am'. I hate that people won't let me go and I so desperately want to.
But I don't need permission. And all I can do is apologize.
I'm sorry.