Everyone writes stories about Death or Life or about religion or a lack of religion. But nobody ever writes about me. I dwell in all beings and everyone who ever lived. I take home in the religious or the non-religious. You can’t save yourself from me for I am doubt. I know you’ve met me before. No one shakes my hand or says, “Nice to see you Doubt.” You walk all over me. I’m like the gum that gets stuck to the bottom of your shoe. It’s not intentional, but you’re stuck with me. Whenever you try to scrape me off you just end up spreading me all around, and making a bigger mess. Whenever you put your foot down I make it harder to pick it back up. That’s me, an annoyance.
Doubt can sometimes be a good thing. I make people question if they remembered to turn off the stove. I save lives, but I also take some. I make people question their importance. They take their life. I am told it’s their decision in the end, but I helped. I pulled the trigger. Knowing that I helped bring someone to that point kills me, and no, not literally. I can’t die, and maybe that makes it worse having to live with the guilt. If you call what I do, even living.
Lots of people like to deny my existence in their own lives. All the people that are reading this I ask that you turn off your thoughts. What do you hear? Nothing? We all wish that was true, but it’s not. You hear me. You see me. You feel my hot, sticky breath on the back of your neck. I scream at you your darkest fears and deepest doubts. It hurts. The truth hurts, and I just reveal the truth. Lots of people find noise-cancellers to block out my whispering scream. Maybe it’s a baggy shirt that covers that extra layer of flab. Sometimes it’s a guy or a girl that makes you forget about all me. But I’m still here still pounding away in your head. Whenever those distractions fall away you begin to realize that your silent thoughts aren’t really silent at all. It’s more of a scream. Yeah, that’s me, that constant noise and pain.
Hello. Welcome to the truth.