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It’s said that no man is an island.
I spent many years believing that wasn’t true. If no man was an island, why did I feel so alone? Everyone always left. Physically or emotionally, whether intentional or not. I grew accustomed to being abandoned.
One of the first lessons I learnt was that joy didn’t last, no matter how much you wished it. Maybe I'm just predisposed to misfortune. Well-meaning sympathisers trickled through my life. But I grew tired of their pity. Sorrow on my behalf wouldn’t fill the void of what was missing. And they never stayed, either.
Eventually, I decided to leave first. Life was going to happen to me without my consent, anyway. No matter what I did, the bad in the world trumped noble intentions every time. Why stay and fight and fail?
I embraced the concept of freedom. From societies rules, from the plagues of the past. I explored what freedom meant to me personally. What did I need to feel free? And as I discovered the answers to that, I found life could be enjoyable.
As long as I remained an island.
I’d already learnt that trust was a lie. When I found other people pursuing their own freedom, it became apparent that the life I’d chosen didn’t lend itself to friendships or loyalty, either. Occasionally the lines others were willing to cross left me with a feeling worse than loneliness, or sorrow. A pang of guilt so deep it scarred my soul. I learnt what I could live with, and where my moral boundaries lay. Paying attention to my conscience became crucial to staying within my blissful bubble of freedom.
Self-reliance was no longer just prudent, but necessary. I became industrious, mastering skills crucial for survival. When survival was no longer enough, I pursued anything that would help me attain my goals. The world doesn’t reward those who sit idly by. It punishes those who cling to childish notions of nobility.
As long as I didn’t care about the world, and they didn’t care about me, I could enjoy my version of freedom.
I even found someone to share my island. I started thinking in terms of us, and we. Our views were compatible, our desires in sync. High on dreams, I ignored how I was defying my own tenet by forging a link to humanity.
Then, the bubble burst. I guess it had to happen. The cardinal rule had caught up with me: nothing good lasts. My idea of what freedom looked like wasn’t allowed in the eyes of society. But I’d long since accepted that. At least I could face this trial knowing it was in the pursuit of what I believed in.
Yet, my debt wasn’t paid. Life decided to keep taking from me. It took my purpose, my hope. The future I thought I’d have. I’d gotten greedy, forgetting that happiness had a price. For me, that meant isolation in exchange for independence.
However, as one connection was severed, another was made. With a cruel twist of humour, life decided to show me what could have been. I was no longer alone, but the cost was too high. I was ensnared. Freedom became illusionary. Tantalisingly close, but out of reach. How loose did a collar have to be before it ceased to feel suffocating?
My new leash, which forced me to surrender so much, also brought me closer to something I’d long since given up on. Roots grew, unbidden, tethering me to more than just a few city blocks. My actions now had consequences beyond myself. Where did the moral line lie when the variables had changed?
The weight of expectations was unexpectedly burdensome. Every mistake seemed amplified by the disappointment on the faces of those I’d become inexorably bound to. Crippled, unable to move without seeing the ripples of my actions damaging the lives of others.
I tried reining in my impulses to limit the destruction. Tried to embody the potential they claimed to see. Or was I playing a part? Fooling myself as well as the world? I no longer knew where the facade ended and true emotion began.
As an island, I’d been unfettered and unaffected. Now, this genuine care, unsolicited and onerous, was both blessing and curse. A blanket at the same time comforting and smothering. How could I ever be free while indebted beyond my capacity to repay?
And the tragedies kept mounting. Some new, and some relics of the past, come back to haunt me. A dark wake feeding off every bad decision I’d ever made.
Then I realised the truth. Life wasn’t handing out pain indiscriminately. The law of cause and effect had always been in place. I had just been denying my role, selfishly believing I wasn’t to blame. But no one is unaccountable. Every choice we make has repercussions. Whether it’s what you intended or not, you create your own outcome.
So, I made this final decision. If I couldn’t stop causing misery, I could at least stop it affecting the innocent. It’s not the easy option, though I’m sure most would say it is. Ripping myself from the connections I’ve made is viscerally painful. But I’m long past the point of being able to disentangle myself without something unravelling. In repaying my debt, I’m inflicting this final pain on those I leave behind. It would be so much easier, simpler, if there wasn’t anyone to care.
Am I still being selfish? Is it the ultimate manifestation of ego, to believe my actions have such wide-spread consequences? Am I truly doing this for the sake of others? Or is burning my old life to the ground an attempt to satisfy my craving for the ultimate freedom? Is it cowardice? Running instead of facing the truth? Perhaps the real deception is the lie I’m telling myself.
Whatever the case, it’s my own decisions that led me to this point, as it’s my decision to leave. I’m the only one to blame.