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Broken. Mika new this about himself. It was a long standing fact in his mind. He agreed with it, and even accepted it as a part of his identity. The only thing he regretted was that he had no good reason for the way he was. No tragic backstory, no life altering event, not even a logical struggle that the world imposed upon him. If the dying feeling in his soul had come about in some sexy or remarkable way, perhaps it would be easier to justify, or even fight out of. Instead he just felt pathetic.
Even if someone were to invest and listen in him, he would have nothing to say. He was too ashamed to think himself worthy of being fixed. Surrounded by people who have had suffered through so much, who was he to dare bemoan the way he felt.
Many attempts were made to just do everything right in the hopes that he could repair whatever damage had been sustained. Years were spent doing research, getting plugged into groups that were supposed to help, and fighting to maintain any healthy habits whatsoever. But time passed, and he feels just as fundamentally wrong as he ever has. Now, he has decided to embrace his reality.
What difference could it possibly make if one person in billions has given up. If he were a product, he would be the one that seems to work perfectly at the factory, but is promptly traded out by its owner for one that functions correctly once it becomes clear that he is defective. Some people work forever, becoming the model of reliability. Others should be abandoned very shortly after they get their start. Mika found himself to be the latter.
His favorite hobby was to make fun of himself. He had always been “blessed” with being self aware of his flaws and what he should work to improve. This just made the remarks he aimed inwardly all the more cutting. Who better to attack the soft spots than the person who knows where each one is?
Who knows if this is the normal way to exist. All he can do is assume that either everyone else feels the same way, or that he’s the lone freak. Massive insecurities everywhere he looks. A list as long as his college campus could be written about the things that he loathes about himself. He fully and truly believes, that there is no worse person on this planet that is worse than he is. Under no circumstances does he deign to judge another living soul, not because he has a good natured heart or anything, but because what could possibly give the scum of the Earth the right to do so?
For so many years he has adopted the personality and demeanor of a high functioning human that even those who know him best and want to help do not know the extent or depth that the animosity goes. He claims that he loves the depth and stylistic choices of the music he chooses to fill his head with, regardless of their alarming messages. In reality, they sing the songs that he feels in his heart.
He has given all he has, and if no one comes to rescue him, then he feels he may be done. He expects no one will.