The guy that hates toast

“Do you like toast?” I questioned. You responded with, “Just as much as the next guy would.”
But as I looked down to the next guy, I realized that he hated toast.
That guy that hates toast gets up everyday falling to the floor, just to stay there for another hour or so because he fell back asleep.
He’s always late for anything he has planned, which is almost always nothing.
He does nothing. Feels nothing. Has nothing. And is nothing, nothing more than letters that created a few words.
This “guy” that hates toast is nothing more than my imagination.
I created him, I could continue creating him, making you more and more invested in him but why would I do that?

Nothing into something? Something into nothing? “From dust we came to dust we return”. That’s what my father and his church used to always say.

If God is so accepting why isn’t the church? If he created love, why only limit people to love one certain way?
Why only respect people exactly like you? Why disrespect the next person because of the way they dress or act? Why call yourself worthy of something when you think of yourself as better than someone, or that person less then you for no apparent?
To my father’s surprise, I can now speak to him. Not just words, but disagreeing words. Thinking differently then the “almighty” him.
God forbid I were actually to be different then him, have a slight different opinion.
Funny that I have the complete opposite opinions then him now. And funny that I can like both boys and girls, even though he thinks it’s not “natural”. That God made us so we could reproduce, so therefore it’s not good to have different sexual preferences.

My father and I have different views on life, but I used to tell him that I thought exactly like him, to avoid being punished.
He controlled every second of my life, it was basically just his at that point.
I pretended to be someone I wasn’t, I did it so much that I molded into someone else. I never knew who I really was.

We left him a few years ago, and now, years later I still don’t know who I am. I don’t know what I may be forcing or not forcing my self to do. He no longer controls me and I’m not fully used to it. It feels weird, life feels numb. No one is controlling me.. Not even me.
I don’t even view life the same, I often don’t even want life. Of course once I’m free from my father I don’t actually feel free. It’s like I’m now just trapping myself, I’m not used to not being overruled.
I am confused by existence.
The definition of existence is; the fact or state of living or having objective reality.
I know what existence is, but I can’t find a word describing existence. Or what it should feel like.
I wish I could find a word that means “not existing”. When I look for it, the only answers I get is “asleep, buried, deceased, late, and lifeless”. Yes those are correct but I want a more descriptive answer. One truly describing the meaning “not existing”.

I always look for answers, any answers. I’m not always satisfied with the answers I’m given, if I were even given them.
I will never get the answer to my question about why I’m here, if there even is a reason. Or an answer.

But if I had the answers to everything then what would be the point in life? There’d be no surprises. No questions, nothing else to find out. Life would be a different kind of bland.

Almost every decision has some consequences, somehow rippling out. Hurting someone, if not yourself.
If I knew what would happen before every decision, I wouldn’t be able to do anything without the guilt of knowing what is inevitable.
Not even the guilt of doing something, but I’d have fear. Fear of seeing one person and knowing exactly how much they would hurt me. Or how much I’d hurt them. So I guess I don’t need every answer. Besides, I would never stop wasting my time asking.

Just like with this story, when, or if I post it, I don’t know who would be offended or harmed.
I don’t know if my father would see it. I don’t know if he’d actually accept that he was wrong.

But really, we are nothing. A speck, a speck on this planet, a speck in this galaxy, and a speck in everything beyond that. If we could even be considered a speck, have the privilege of being anything at all.

Specks hurt, but that’s already known. You hurt, we hurt, we all hurt for each other. And ice cream. I scream, you scream, we all scream for ice cream. Really? Why did we make that, it’s catchy, I’ll admit that, but silly.
I could sit here and complain behind my computer for endless hours but that would be pointless. I’d be doing another pointless thing, again. Just to do it again. It’ll replay over and over. But, never the less, that’s how life is, life could never be described. Not with your preferred answer.