12-26-2025, 10:14 AM
Three hours, a final exam in political science, two liters of Mt. Dew, and a Ritalin later, I'm wide awake and bored to tears. My cheek rests on the cool metal of the desk in my bedroom as I watch the movements of an ant crawling across my keyboard. The cocktail of stimulants—the water coursing through my veins—has turned my mind into a laser beam. That was my intention, so I could write five to seven pages on democratic socialism. But now I think that wasn't such a good idea, because now all I can do is think.
I look around my room, searching for something to occupy my mind for the next five hours, since sleep isn't an option. My first impulse is to sit down in front of my GameCube and see if I can set a new time record for beating Wind Waker, but then I remember I sold it last week. I needed the money, and it's a bigger distraction than I need during final exams this week.
Then I think about reading, but this suggestion is quickly dismissed, because there must be something more entertaining.
I sit up and stare at my computer screen. I've been staring at this damn thing for three hours. It's an old monitor, at least thirteen years old. It came with the Windows 3.1 computer my mother bought in '92. It was top-of-the-line back then. Now its resolution is terrible, and it turns pink if it stays on too long, like now. It's just one in a long list of things that need replacing in my life.
But it's three in the morning, so I think, "What the hell?" I grab the mouse and open a game of solitaire.
I'm going back to a simpler time as I move the black seven to the red eight, back to a time when this game was the pinnacle of the most advanced technology on the planet. Or at least, that's what my parents told me it was. They don't believe in video games, the way people don't believe in same-sex marriage or gun control or dwarf tossing. They convinced me that solitaire was the pinnacle of technological progress, and I believed them.
So I laid my heart on the line and wanted to become the best solitaire player I could be. I never became better than most people, but I had developed little strategies for winning and saw patterns in the cards, guessing their secrets and predicting their moves. And I was convinced that there were solitaire gods who would grant me a high score if I was in their favor, or who would prevent me from getting all the cards I needed while laughing sadistically.
The gods find me worthy, and I finish with a score of 580. Not bad for me. I usually don't accept anything below 520. But the idea of solitaire quickly bores me, and my vagabond spirit wanders off in search of a more fulfilling pursuit.
I realize I should put my political science paper away before I forget, so I sling my backpack onto my lap and start stuffing papers into it. Then a blue notecard falls to the floor. It's the note Chris had given me.
That life-sucking bastard!
He was the first boyfriend I ever had. We met when I joined the student organization "Queers and Allies" on campus, and we got along pretty well right away. He was a great guy and seemed vulnerable, and I was looking for someone to protect. After all, with my experience dealing with homophobes, I was more than ready to help someone who was in the same boat.
But Chris didn't want any help.
I don't know why I kept the note. Probably because it's the last thing he gave me. I still miss him. Even though I hate him, I still miss him. My happiest moments are when we go to the movies or play paintball together. I was so in love with him. And all he could do was hand me a note explaining that he "needed space" and that it was "best for both of us." If he'd said it was because I wasn't his type, I would have freaked out.
I begin to cry as the icy feeling returns to my chest, the feeling I had when I first read the letter. I'd always wondered if this was the feeling of death. I need to think of something else.
I'm opening another solitaire game.
This looks easy, and my thoughts quickly drift away from my sadness. I get two aces in a row. As I play, my thoughts slowly drift back to my youth, when girls had lice and boys weren't the focus of my thoughts. I long to be young and foolish again, so as if a stupid letter could cause me so much pain.
It's not like I insulted him. If he didn't like Halo or Naruto, or even hang out with my friends, he would have said something. And he didn't even have the decency to tell me himself. The harbinger of my pain was a three-by-eight-inch notecard with no sympathy or replies, just a declaration of the independence I now possessed.
"You know what? Screw him!" I tell myself. "Why should I want to date someone who doesn't have the guts to tell me how he feels in my face? I don't need him!"
But it was a lie. I need him more than I needed breath. His bright personality, his sweet smile, and his boyish charm drive me crazy. We were made for each other, or so I thought. But now he's gone. I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life, and now I'm left behind without happiness or hope. All I feel is anger, rage, sadness, darkness.
I close the solitaire window and begin to cry bitterly. I don't care if the game is over. I didn't care about anything. The only thing that truly mattered to me has been ripped from my life, so what else matters?
I recognize the noise I'm making and tense up. It's late and my sister is right across the hall. The last thing I need is for her to wake up and find me like this. I suppress my feelings and hold them deep inside.
I wipe my cheek with the palm of my hand and look for my next distraction, something to take my mind off Chris and maybe make me feel better. I decide on music. My mind is completely drained, and I don't care what I listen to as long as it soothes my mood. So I choose a simple 80s playlist and sit back until I forget everything that's bothering me.
I involuntarily open a solitaire game when R.E.M. starts playing. I've always liked this strange little band. Don't ask me why, and I don't have to tell you. "Losing My Religion" is first on the playlist. I like the song for the melody, not so much for the lyrics. But in my current state of mind, I'm finally beginning to understand what they're getting at.
They try to tell us that life is a shitty place and people have to deal with it differently. And some people assume that their way is the best, which isn't true. But we're all told that everyone has to do the same thing, so I can see where they get that idea from. Religion has nothing to do with God or churches or revival events; it's about the rules we make up for ourselves and then apply to everyone else. Schools, businesses, governments—everyone does it. It's just human nature, and I hate it.
Why do we have to be so damn selfish? I know it's impossible to stop. I've been there. I wish I could believe I'd managed it myself. Death, disease, and so many wars could be prevented if people would just learn to think outside the box. People are so stupid, and I'm ashamed to be one of them.
What? 435? That's a disgrace! How could I have done so badly? I must not have been paying attention. Only an idiot would score that low at solitaire.
I angrily close the game, walk over, and throw myself onto my bed. I know I won't be able to fall asleep, but it's worth a try. Dreams and black nothingness will be infinitely better than what I feel right now. I used to be angry at Chris. Now I'm angry at everyone else on this planet, and I'm slowly becoming angry at life itself.
I stare at the ceiling, feeling my tired head spin, hoping sleep will consume me. But of course, you can't fall asleep thinking about it. I get up and start doing jumping jacks, hoping to tire myself out. But that only gets my blood pumping, making me more awake and alert.
This is hell.
Wherever I turn, all I find is frustration, anger, and sadness. I remember feeling this way in middle school, when my face was covered in pimples and my ears were heavier than the rest of my head. But this time it's different. This is stronger. I knew the pimples would go away and my head would grow to fit my ears, but the darkness I face now is inescapable. I know Chris has left my life forever. I knew that no matter what I do, people suck, and I know that no matter how hard I try, I'll never sleep tonight. My body goes limp as I realize I can't escape my pain.
“Not quite,” I think.
The idea had always lurked in the back of my mind, but now it's come to light and is crystal clear: suicide. I have no job, I have no boyfriend, I have very few friends, and now I have no hope at all. The only question that remains is: "How?"
I could take out my pocketknife and slit my wrists. But I don't want to make a huge mess of blood everywhere. If my parents have lost their son, I don't want them getting a carpet cleaning bill on top of it. I could go upstairs and swallow any number of pills. But I doubt Benadryl and Tylenol would be a lethal combination. I could jump out the window. But it's no more than 15 feet to the ground, so any impact would have to be a direct hit.
"Damn it!" I think. "I can't even think of a good way to kill myself! Nothing in my life is going right. What am I supposed to do now?"
I'm opening a game of Solitaire.
As I sit here staring at the screen, my heart beats numbly. I think I'm emotionally overwhelmed, but I don't care at all. I let the ice demon scratching at my chest have free rein over my body. I'd much rather feel nothing than be sad. I know I'll never be with Chris, but it doesn't matter now. I knew people would always make me angry, but they didn't matter now. None of the world's problems, none of my friends, none of my family, none of it matters. Not even me matters. I'm just drifting through life, come what may. It doesn't matter if it makes me happy or sad, or if it hurts or not, it just happens and I just have to deal with it.
Everything I do is meaningless.
735.
I barely notice it. I think I see things, but in the bottom right corner of the screen it says my score is 735. Now, in all my years of playing solitaire, I know that to get over 700, you need to finish the game in one round, something I've been aiming for my whole life, but never before. Thirteen years of diligent dedication have finally paid off.
I sit there, staring at the screen, forgetting how awful life is. I don't have a boyfriend, but I can always find a new one. And people aren't so horrible and repulsive after all. The icy feeling in my heart lifts, replaced by warm self-satisfaction. I let go of my anger and resentment. I feel like a child again, young and foolish.
But it's still 5:30 in the morning, and my next class doesn't start until 10:00. So I tell the computer to give me a new game so I can practice for the rest of the morning. I need to beat a new high score, and I can't do it by just sitting around.
I look around my room, searching for something to occupy my mind for the next five hours, since sleep isn't an option. My first impulse is to sit down in front of my GameCube and see if I can set a new time record for beating Wind Waker, but then I remember I sold it last week. I needed the money, and it's a bigger distraction than I need during final exams this week.
Then I think about reading, but this suggestion is quickly dismissed, because there must be something more entertaining.
I sit up and stare at my computer screen. I've been staring at this damn thing for three hours. It's an old monitor, at least thirteen years old. It came with the Windows 3.1 computer my mother bought in '92. It was top-of-the-line back then. Now its resolution is terrible, and it turns pink if it stays on too long, like now. It's just one in a long list of things that need replacing in my life.
But it's three in the morning, so I think, "What the hell?" I grab the mouse and open a game of solitaire.
I'm going back to a simpler time as I move the black seven to the red eight, back to a time when this game was the pinnacle of the most advanced technology on the planet. Or at least, that's what my parents told me it was. They don't believe in video games, the way people don't believe in same-sex marriage or gun control or dwarf tossing. They convinced me that solitaire was the pinnacle of technological progress, and I believed them.
So I laid my heart on the line and wanted to become the best solitaire player I could be. I never became better than most people, but I had developed little strategies for winning and saw patterns in the cards, guessing their secrets and predicting their moves. And I was convinced that there were solitaire gods who would grant me a high score if I was in their favor, or who would prevent me from getting all the cards I needed while laughing sadistically.
The gods find me worthy, and I finish with a score of 580. Not bad for me. I usually don't accept anything below 520. But the idea of solitaire quickly bores me, and my vagabond spirit wanders off in search of a more fulfilling pursuit.
I realize I should put my political science paper away before I forget, so I sling my backpack onto my lap and start stuffing papers into it. Then a blue notecard falls to the floor. It's the note Chris had given me.
That life-sucking bastard!
He was the first boyfriend I ever had. We met when I joined the student organization "Queers and Allies" on campus, and we got along pretty well right away. He was a great guy and seemed vulnerable, and I was looking for someone to protect. After all, with my experience dealing with homophobes, I was more than ready to help someone who was in the same boat.
But Chris didn't want any help.
I don't know why I kept the note. Probably because it's the last thing he gave me. I still miss him. Even though I hate him, I still miss him. My happiest moments are when we go to the movies or play paintball together. I was so in love with him. And all he could do was hand me a note explaining that he "needed space" and that it was "best for both of us." If he'd said it was because I wasn't his type, I would have freaked out.
I begin to cry as the icy feeling returns to my chest, the feeling I had when I first read the letter. I'd always wondered if this was the feeling of death. I need to think of something else.
I'm opening another solitaire game.
This looks easy, and my thoughts quickly drift away from my sadness. I get two aces in a row. As I play, my thoughts slowly drift back to my youth, when girls had lice and boys weren't the focus of my thoughts. I long to be young and foolish again, so as if a stupid letter could cause me so much pain.
It's not like I insulted him. If he didn't like Halo or Naruto, or even hang out with my friends, he would have said something. And he didn't even have the decency to tell me himself. The harbinger of my pain was a three-by-eight-inch notecard with no sympathy or replies, just a declaration of the independence I now possessed.
"You know what? Screw him!" I tell myself. "Why should I want to date someone who doesn't have the guts to tell me how he feels in my face? I don't need him!"
But it was a lie. I need him more than I needed breath. His bright personality, his sweet smile, and his boyish charm drive me crazy. We were made for each other, or so I thought. But now he's gone. I wanted to be with him for the rest of my life, and now I'm left behind without happiness or hope. All I feel is anger, rage, sadness, darkness.
I close the solitaire window and begin to cry bitterly. I don't care if the game is over. I didn't care about anything. The only thing that truly mattered to me has been ripped from my life, so what else matters?
I recognize the noise I'm making and tense up. It's late and my sister is right across the hall. The last thing I need is for her to wake up and find me like this. I suppress my feelings and hold them deep inside.
I wipe my cheek with the palm of my hand and look for my next distraction, something to take my mind off Chris and maybe make me feel better. I decide on music. My mind is completely drained, and I don't care what I listen to as long as it soothes my mood. So I choose a simple 80s playlist and sit back until I forget everything that's bothering me.
I involuntarily open a solitaire game when R.E.M. starts playing. I've always liked this strange little band. Don't ask me why, and I don't have to tell you. "Losing My Religion" is first on the playlist. I like the song for the melody, not so much for the lyrics. But in my current state of mind, I'm finally beginning to understand what they're getting at.
They try to tell us that life is a shitty place and people have to deal with it differently. And some people assume that their way is the best, which isn't true. But we're all told that everyone has to do the same thing, so I can see where they get that idea from. Religion has nothing to do with God or churches or revival events; it's about the rules we make up for ourselves and then apply to everyone else. Schools, businesses, governments—everyone does it. It's just human nature, and I hate it.
Why do we have to be so damn selfish? I know it's impossible to stop. I've been there. I wish I could believe I'd managed it myself. Death, disease, and so many wars could be prevented if people would just learn to think outside the box. People are so stupid, and I'm ashamed to be one of them.
What? 435? That's a disgrace! How could I have done so badly? I must not have been paying attention. Only an idiot would score that low at solitaire.
I angrily close the game, walk over, and throw myself onto my bed. I know I won't be able to fall asleep, but it's worth a try. Dreams and black nothingness will be infinitely better than what I feel right now. I used to be angry at Chris. Now I'm angry at everyone else on this planet, and I'm slowly becoming angry at life itself.
I stare at the ceiling, feeling my tired head spin, hoping sleep will consume me. But of course, you can't fall asleep thinking about it. I get up and start doing jumping jacks, hoping to tire myself out. But that only gets my blood pumping, making me more awake and alert.
This is hell.
Wherever I turn, all I find is frustration, anger, and sadness. I remember feeling this way in middle school, when my face was covered in pimples and my ears were heavier than the rest of my head. But this time it's different. This is stronger. I knew the pimples would go away and my head would grow to fit my ears, but the darkness I face now is inescapable. I know Chris has left my life forever. I knew that no matter what I do, people suck, and I know that no matter how hard I try, I'll never sleep tonight. My body goes limp as I realize I can't escape my pain.
“Not quite,” I think.
The idea had always lurked in the back of my mind, but now it's come to light and is crystal clear: suicide. I have no job, I have no boyfriend, I have very few friends, and now I have no hope at all. The only question that remains is: "How?"
I could take out my pocketknife and slit my wrists. But I don't want to make a huge mess of blood everywhere. If my parents have lost their son, I don't want them getting a carpet cleaning bill on top of it. I could go upstairs and swallow any number of pills. But I doubt Benadryl and Tylenol would be a lethal combination. I could jump out the window. But it's no more than 15 feet to the ground, so any impact would have to be a direct hit.
"Damn it!" I think. "I can't even think of a good way to kill myself! Nothing in my life is going right. What am I supposed to do now?"
I'm opening a game of Solitaire.
As I sit here staring at the screen, my heart beats numbly. I think I'm emotionally overwhelmed, but I don't care at all. I let the ice demon scratching at my chest have free rein over my body. I'd much rather feel nothing than be sad. I know I'll never be with Chris, but it doesn't matter now. I knew people would always make me angry, but they didn't matter now. None of the world's problems, none of my friends, none of my family, none of it matters. Not even me matters. I'm just drifting through life, come what may. It doesn't matter if it makes me happy or sad, or if it hurts or not, it just happens and I just have to deal with it.
Everything I do is meaningless.
735.
I barely notice it. I think I see things, but in the bottom right corner of the screen it says my score is 735. Now, in all my years of playing solitaire, I know that to get over 700, you need to finish the game in one round, something I've been aiming for my whole life, but never before. Thirteen years of diligent dedication have finally paid off.
I sit there, staring at the screen, forgetting how awful life is. I don't have a boyfriend, but I can always find a new one. And people aren't so horrible and repulsive after all. The icy feeling in my heart lifts, replaced by warm self-satisfaction. I let go of my anger and resentment. I feel like a child again, young and foolish.
But it's still 5:30 in the morning, and my next class doesn't start until 10:00. So I tell the computer to give me a new game so I can practice for the rest of the morning. I need to beat a new high score, and I can't do it by just sitting around.