At 10 I realized friendships are well thought out lies. At 11 I realized the world could move faster and that sounds could be louder, and that colors could be brighter. At 12 I realized I can scream without making a noise. In the next three years I realized love was a conditional lie, fortified my beliefs and sat atop an ignorant citadel. At 16 I realized hope can be rebuilt and that I could live another’s life. At 17 I realized the quickness of the world, the loudness of sound and the brightness of colors had a name. Before 18 I realized everybody lies and that my affliction is failure. At 18 I realized my memories were not always my own, that I could live in another's history and diagnosed myself with arrogance one last time. I prescribed five doses of death and failed to take all of them. Before 19 I became a coward hiding behind words.
Possidere Pathos, a hidden abstract tumour in all those who were ever born, benign in almost everyone, but only almost. I am among the few it chose to awaken in. Those before me learned what it meant, some locked themselves up, others took their dosages on time. I’m yet to meet another “Poser”, a fitting name considering what others see, but they all seem to be in hiding or being hunted.
Living another’s memory takes its toll on us, but so does the society. The new world thinks we are cynics, anarchists, monsters bend on overthrowing their well-planned system. They reject even the smallest possibility of Pos.P. lying dormant in them. Posers are actively hunted, either for conversion or for execution. I’ve seen a few old-timers after conversion, it scares me, so I keep running.
I was 19 when I realized what I am. I remember fleeting moments of pride or happiness, I remember sharing memories, helping people, believing everything was worth it. I had read we were once heroes, I felt like one then.
That was 9 years ago, feels a lot longer, but I keep track, I have to. I prescribed myself the final dose of death at 30. I am getting tired, can’t keep going. I haven’t seen a human face in years, I don’t think I will. This is the first journal I have ever written, the only one I will ever write. If you’re reading this, it must mean…. I’m scared, I don’t see another way out.
P.S. This is important, Pos.P reveals itself through inability to distinguish biological chemical interaction, increased intermittent production of adrenaline, heart palpitations, fear and/or paranoia. They were all symptoms but nobody cared, nobody will even try. If you think you are one of us, I hope you are not, but if you are, then hide, there is no use running. Hide.
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