Diary Of An Immortal

Anything that comes to be, comes to pass.

Anything that lives, dies.

What if you could not die? What if you had to linger here, for eternity?

I am truly the man who walks alone. I have seen events of humanity historians can only read about. Time has lost it’s meaning to me, it matters not what day or week or year it is. I am gifted, and cursed. In my experience, there is no difference between the two. I have no life, for the very word life signifies something that must come to pass. Death follows close to life; the two are intertwined harmoniously.

I cannot die.

You spend all of your lives collecting money, storing food, and securing partners. I have seen times without number this cycle of events. I have seen them all come to an end, wiped out by the one force man has yet to harness; time.

Humans cannot escape it; they cannot cut it out of their lives, or burn it out, or hate it out. Only wait it out. I am above no human, but similar in their disposition. I exist in their world; interact with it, love it, and hate it. I have a human body, and a human mind, but I no longer have the heart.

A human life is a simple occurrence. They are born, they live, and they die.
How I envy them.
An immortal, their fantasists would call me. Those who seek to prolong their lives see death as their ultimate nemesis. They hunger for more power, more money, more women. I used to laugh at their frivolity, at their seething rage knowing their whole lives would amount to ultimately nothing because they would die and their efforts would be wasted. They cram as much living into their short spans in an attempt to get the most out of what this world has to offer.

Admittedly, some embrace death after their peak in life. Bones grow weary and minds become tarnished with age and senility. Some relish death to the extent of taking the affair into their own hands.
How I envy them.

I gave up centuries ago trying to end my souring existence; the results obviously being fruitless. No weapon  or utensil known to man can end me; no poison can sedate me. The harsh fact is they can still inflict the same damage and pain they would normally cause to a regular being.

Slashed wrists bled for a full day before clotting, leaving me woozy and faint for days afterwards. A bullet to the heart tore through my flesh with molten fury, causing agony untold, a pain no human endures because death ensues immediately. No ocean can quench my candle of life either.

Close to four hundred years ago, I cast myself off a bridge, and I was thankful for the lack of engineering ability back then. The river was relatively thin, although deep. No bridge would cross a wider river for years afterwards.
Inhaling a great lungful of water burned like icy knives ripping into my chest. I sank to the bottom, feeling no indication of my life ending.
Blinded by the salty, murky water, I had to navigate my way ashore, navigating the underwater terrain of slippery hills and unfathomable distances. Returning to the surface, I had to cough up a good four litres of filthy brine and waste, a testament to the lack of sanitation control back then. Most unpleasant.

I won’t even mention my attempts of decapitation.

Trying to end myself became a habitual routine. I was in complete denial as to it’s fruitlessness, convincing myself that I just wasn’t being creative enough, and that there indeed was a way for me to die. For a time, all that drove me was the thought that I could cease to exist, to end this harrowing ordeal.
They truly don’t know how lucky they are.

Humans, by their very nature, are sociable beings. I had made so many friends, from so many different eras, that I have forgotten their names and faces. So long has it been since I have had a friend. Do not pity me, I beg for none. My solidarity is of my own doing.
Friends I had made inevitably died, lovers I experienced all ended up in the grave. I kept putting myself in situations where I would get hurt, refusing to accept the fact that they would all leave me. For years I was convinced that making friends was a way for me to tolerate this world, even if they would all eventually die.

The realisation that no matter what I did I would end up alone was too much for me to bear. I wandered each country, secretly searching for another immortal, but finding none. Why me?

I cant even remember my own life. That is, I cannot remember the time of my childhood to the time I became an adult. I cannot remember the section of time that I should only have existed for. Something happened to freeze my passage through time, through life.
I do not age. I look to be about forty, so I assume that whatever magic or curse that was put upon me occurred when I was of this age. Long ago I gave up trying to piece together the past.

I am so weary, and bored. It’s true what they say; history repeats itself. I could be the worlds best psychologist, simply because I have seen every scenario of relationships, emotions and behavioural patterns known to man dozens of times over. Humans haven’t changed much recently.

Time has warped my personality, but not my mind. I have grown terribly bitter, and withdrawn, but I have not deteriorated mentally, such as a normal human would after so much time. Simply existing for so long would surely cause serious mental turbulence. Not for me though. It seems my mind is as resilient as my body, another factor of immortality.

I suppose in a way going insane would be a form of death, because you would not exist the world as you do when sane.
That would ruin my fun, wouldn’t it?

Be thankful life is not eternal, but do not dwell on it’s futility.

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