Blue Story
Matthew Ryan Fischer
Jason called himself Jake, but some of his friends called him Jack or
Jay. He was speeding down the highway going 110mph in his Shadow Blue Pearl
STR Viper. The sun was warm through the windshield, but the wind from the
window was cool. Jason thought it was odd to be hot and cold at the same
time. He could feel the moisture forming on his lower back and under his
arms. A black t-shirt was not a good idea.
Jason closed his eyes.
Just for a few seconds.
Jason was not a thrill seeker. He also did not have a death
wish. He was a life seeker. He took part in actions that were
supposed to elicit some form of emotional response. He did not partake in
random chaotic activities that could result in his own death. He wanted
very badly to feel something in his life or about his life. He made
calculations and took calculated risks that were supposed to give him the best
shot at feeling something while minimizing his actual exposure to permanent
harm.
Jason had many life long problems. The problem he concerned
himself with, the problem he was trying to solve, was that he didn’t know how
to feel. Life was just there. It was plain. Simple. He
didn’t feel ups and downs. He only felt in constants, simple ordinary
unidentified constants. It wasn’t a sense of contentment. It wasn’t
apathy. It wasn’t a state of Zen existence. It wasn’t
depression. He just was not in touch with his feelings. And he so
desperately wanted to feel. Something. Anything. So he did things
that were supposed to make a person feel.
When Jason was young he found he was extremely capable of making himself
bleed. He would bite his tongue until it was too late. He would scratch
and pick at scabs until he bled. He tore off toenails and chewed his
finger nails until he was raw. It was like he was trying to destroy
himself in some small way.
He was not suicidal nor was he pre-suicidal. He didn’t think he had
any interest in that. His goal was always to make himself feel something
to remind himself that he was alive. Suicide seemed out of the question
for this purpose. There was the chance that he, in that final moment,
might feel life in a way that he never could have imagined, but he was
unwilling to take that risk. If he felt nothing, then it would all be a
waste.
Jason did not partake in non-suicidal self-injury. He had thought
about. He had held the knife in his hand and had taken a long hard look
at it. He pushed the tip against the palm of his hand. Not enough
to pierce the skin or draw blood. Just enough to feel a little bit of
pain. He found that just a little bit of pain was enough to remind
himself he was alive. He had no desire to have scars or to accidentally
make a mistake and have a non-lethal act suddenly become irreversible.
Maybe it was a copout. Maybe he wasn’t as seriously empty inside and he
wanted to believe he was. Somewhere deep inside he knew that he didn’t
want to die, and that in turn must mean on some level he really did enjoy being
alive.
Realizing that he on some level must actually be alive meant he must have
some feelings suppressed deep down inside. He just didn’t know how to
access them. He thought it might have been chemical. Possibly he
wasn’t producing enough dopamine or serotonin or had an opioid
deficiency. That was when he began experimenting with all sorts of
chemical enhancements. Over the counter, herbal, natural, man-made, it
didn’t matter. Jason took a lot of things, legal or otherwise.
At the end of the day, when all was said and done, he always felt
empty. He worried that the price for a moment of emotion would be a
lifetime of low. That was when he experimented with asceticism.
He gave away his possessions to see if he would miss them. He cut
out all vices, junk foods and bad habits. He saw himself as some sort of
Spartan Monk. He could do anything. He would master need, want and
desire.
He didn’t ever really miss having things, but soon he decided to try and
see what it would be like to indulge as the ultimate consumer. He wanted
the high-life – suits, cars, restaurants, hotels, trips. Money was there
to be spent. If he filled his emptiness certainly he would find some sort
of joy.
Sometimes when you fill emptiness all you do is realize that nothing
fills emptiness and that it is a bottomless pit.
The highway was fairly level. There were no upcoming curves.
Jason looked at the traffic around him. He charted their movements in his
head, estimated who would or wouldn’t change lanes.
Jason closed his eyes.
And then he let go of the steering wheel.
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