It isn't very pleasant being in the void. It's not that it's actually physically cold, but it is cold in another way. It's cold because of a lack of warmth, not because of a presence of cold. And it's cold because there is no life except for me. Well, I don't think that there is life except for me, but how I know this I can't explain. If there is life, it isn't the warm, breathing kind. Sometimes I get the impression of unpleasing shadows lurking and swooping around the outsides of the void, but I can't see them or hear them and so I can't decide whether they are alive or not, or even if they are there or not. As well as being cold here, it is also very strange. Sometimes I think I am floating, but sometimes I think I am standing on a tiny thread strung through the middle of the blackness. I walk along the thread carefully and when I am on the thread I get very afraid that I will fall off it into the nothingness, but then when there isn't a thread, I am not afraid. It doesn't make sense, but it doesn't matter that it doesn't make sense. Sense has no relevance when you're afraid, I think. But then, when I'm not afraid sense has no relevance either. The void is just a place where sense doesn't matter, I suppose.
Somewhere, far on the outside of the void, is a world that I'm trying to live in. Things from that world filter into me somehow and I struggle to make them seem important and real. It's hard work, though, and sometimes things happen out there that I can see, but I just can't reach. Most of the time they are bad things, like people dying, and I wonder why I'm trying so hard to reach them because I know they won't be very nice. Still, though, something tells me that I'm missing out when I can't reach things like that. That's one of the things that seem to make the little thread appear so that I have to start being afraid again.
Sometimes I get very jealous of all those people
outside the void. They must have problems as well, of course, but they always
look so much happier than I ever am in here. They like to talk to each other
and they all have people that they are very good friends with. There's no one
in the void. The people outside are lucky, I think. Sometimes I think I could
be one of those people outside and I try so hard that for a while I forget all
about the void, but then something will happen and all of a sudden the void
will come back bigger, blacker, colder that ever before. I end up back on the
thin little thread again and I remember that I simply am not one of those people
outside the void. But, I'm glad I'm not because I really don't like them. They
cluster together and get hysterical and fall all over the place at the smallest
little mishap to their perfect lives. It seems to me that they have no perspective
and all their priorities are skewed. The void isn't a place that can let you
live like that. In the void, you know how insignificant you are and how trivial
your life is. You can see the things that are far more important than whether
you have fun at that party you're spending your night at, or whether you can
buy a pair of pants that you want, or whether the guy who took your parking
space was in the right or not. In the void, you can see that these things matter
even less than you do yourself. Maybe all those outside people should come to
the void for a little while when I manage to get myself out. It might do them
good.