And so the story begins. Like a story of the real life of a young man, or like a fictional character someone drew up, just a story for the imagination. This is for your own interpretation.
It was Saturday. No different than any other Saturday, making it unnecessary for any specific date to be given, it was just an ordinary Saturday like all the rest. He had spent a lot of his time roaming about mindlessly, with no specific intentions in his mind, just sort of drifting about. It was his natural way of life, he supposed, as he really didn't know any better.
The situation was predictable like always: he was upset because another friend was lost. This happened frequently to him, yet somehow, while he felt like it should hurt, and he showed that, for some reason he couldn't find the will to actually believe it. He felt like it was pointless to actually feel any pain out of it, just to move on. His reason was that "he had better things to do", though he knew it was a blatant lie. He had nothing to do, he had no hobbies, no job, and friends came few and far between. Those few friends he had, he trusted more than others, but even then he would admit his trust was limited. If he tried to calculate it, it was estimated around 80% for one person, and the rest were between 50-60%. His family was within that same range, no matter how close to him they might be; he developed this distrust over the years, feeling honesty wasn't something most people believed in anymore. But with his limited trust for family and friends, and no occupation of any kind, he was generally overwhelmed with more free time than he knew how to work with. But he still stood by his reasoning, feeling it made the most sense regardless of the contradictions.
He was fragile, and he knew it. If he had a breaking point, he had passed it four times over, each time, his mind fracturing a bit more. But somehow, he pressed on. Perhaps it was like breaking a toe. It hurts of course, and it messes up your balance, but you're still capable of walking on it. Without four toes though, you're surely struggling to keep yourself up. You would stumble, fall a few times, and have to pick yourself up again. This was a logical way of looking at it for him, but yet he braced himself for more. He felt, egotistically, that he was capable of handling more. This was the repercussions of dealing with stress beyond your physical and mental limitations.
It wasn't necessary for him to burden himself with so much stress, was it? Surely there was a release, perhaps talking to others, or something to that extent. But no, it had _become_ a necessity. His mind had fractured too soon for him to be able to actually release stress, for him to recover. If a broken bone doesn't heal right, it has to be rebroken for it to heal, and eventually a scar is formed.
Yet somehow, he hadn't lost much. He had lost only one thing, which very well could be the worst thing to lose, but he managed to survive without it. His personality. It had changed so much over the years, both due to outside influence and personal choice, that he had forgotten who he was. His name, his birthday, his family, simple facts like that were memorable. But anyone could steal those and pretend to be him, but they would only be a mere identity thief. They could never truly be him... But the way he was now, they could. Because his personality was so empty, so complex, that it wasn't as though he really had one anymore. It was closer to that his mind had fragmented to the point that there were several emotions in his head, each one taking it's own shattered piece for itself, and while all the emotions still existed in his head, they weren't all working as one cohesive unit.
Look at it like a car, for example. Take every single part out of a brand new car, in perfect condition. The engine, the transmission, the seats, the tires, the body, everything. Put them all on a stand, with a sign in front of each one showing what they are. All of those parts work, sure. They're all flawless, and every single one can do what it was made for. But because they're all disassembled from the entire thing, none of them can truly do their job.
Now, look at it like a puzzle. Every piece has to be put back together for the full image to be displayed. But with how many pieces there are, which varies from puzzle to puzzle, this can take a long time. And it could get really irritating to where you simply choose to give up on the puzzle, feeling the final result isn't worth it, regardless of how beautiful it might be in the end.
Can a mind truly fragment this much? Can it shatter into several pieces, yet still remain intact, although not cooperative? And even if it were possible, and it were the case, it was surely too late. Because unlike a puzzle, a mind isn't physical, and it's not so easily put back together. Knowing what was wrong was only that, it wasn't the solution.
So, seemingly forever, he was going to live this repetitive, boring life. And he was content with that, because, he didn't know any better. Or rather, he did, but he chose this path instead. It took less effort, and he wanted things to be easy. This was his mistake. He could have asked for things to be happier, but he blindly asked for things to be _easier_, which in turn put him where he was.
If there was a God, he was more literal than this human. But he didn't take it as punishment, he accepted it as a mere response. He got what he had asked for, which was recognizably the right thing for any being, physical or corporeal, to do. He held no grudges, and somehow, found himself thanking the deity for their choice. It was the least he could do, and the most he could do. He was appreciative, because he didn't know any better...