Learned Helplessness

I had time to review my initial speculation, that I was living in another world. Putting more thought into the subject, my fate of being a human beach ball for an oversized boar sounded too ridiculous to be real. What I was experiencing must have all occurred in the split seconds before my death, where my mind conjured up the fantasy to cope with the stress of dying.

This world might not be real, but I should still take this fantasy seriously, since this could be my last experience of living before my consciousness fades away forever.

Sunset came at last as I took the time to think over my situation. Fatigue pressed down on the boar as its movements slowed. After its latest attack, it finally lost interest in me, and so it simply turned around to trot away.

The whispers conveyed to my mind the boar’s boredom and tiredness. On second thought, since this world was likely a product of my imagination, the voice could really be from the boar. A mind-reading ability would be convenient.

The rules of this world were not obvious to me yet. Judging by the size of the boar, other aspects of the world could differ from Earth, too. A deep growl interrupted my thoughts. It was from none other than my stomach.

Since I had been a plaything to that boar for the entire afternoon, it slipped my mind that food and shelter would be an issue. Ideally, I would need to start a fire, so the chilly night wouldn’t freeze me to death.

A few of the broken-off branches were already in the shape of stakes, perfect as weapons. I gathered as much as I could. The temperature dropped rapidly, starting a countdown to my death. At least from the hours of abuse by the boar, I knew that my body was tougher than before.

A smile formed on my face. Maybe my imagination made me one of those overpowered main characters in light novels meant for the audience to self-insert in. I couldn’t say I was an avid reader, but I had read the most famous ones.

This realization imbued me with an intense drive to chase after the boar. The frustration that had built up in the past hours surfaced at once. I had to make the boar regret treating me like a toy.

The boar had left an obvious track for me to follow. With only ten minutes of following, I came across a cave that appeared to be its home. The boar must have been inside it, but the lack of sunlight made it difficult to be sure.

Recklessly charging in seemed like a bad idea, so instead, I threw a branch into the cave with all my might. The makeshift spear dived straight… onto the ground in front of the cave. It didn’t even pierce the dirt, just lying sideways right there. I gained a newfound appreciation for my ancestors, who could use makeshift tools with ease.

My throw still somewhat achieved its purpose. I heard the whisper in my mind again, notifying me of the obvious: the boar heard me. It emerged from the cave, appearing larger than before.

It found me instantly. Not that I was trying to hide.

I held another branch in front of me, aiming it at the boar. The boar used the same attack, charging towards me again. I barely dodged it and stabbed the side of its body. The stick went deeper into the boar than I expected, with little resistance from its hide.

The boar and the voice in my head screamed in pain at the same time. It felt like my brain was being squished. I dropped onto the ground, gripping my head in pain.

In the periphery of my vision, the boar was ready to attack me again. The injury did little to the creature, but it still injected me with confidence. It helped me stand up despite feeling like needles were swimming in my skull. I could kill it.

I yelled. The sound that came out didn’t resemble a human in the slightest, but the pure battle cry of a boar.

The sudden declaration alarmed the boar. It hesitated for a moment, then resolved to attack me again. Watching it charge toward me, I clenched my fist, putting my trust in my strength, in this lucid dream that my brain had invented.

My clumsy punch connected. I could feel the pushback from the impact. My body recoiled from the force, while the punch knocked the boar off its balance. I was much lighter than it, so I steadied my stance quicker than it could regain its footing.

I picked up another sharp branch as I charged the boar, leaped up a meter, raised the stake midair, and thrust it straight into the boar’s skull, the surefire weakness of every creature with a brain.

The boar swung its weight around in a frenzy, tossing me right onto the ground. A screech played in my brain, giving out such overwhelming pressure on my skull that I felt my head might burst. I held onto my skull; the pain lasted for what seemed like an eternity.

At last, the whispers in my mind faded as the boar fell on its side, dead.

I finally let myself relax, exhausted from the confrontation. The last glimmer of sunlight bid its goodbye, and a few moons, I counted six, took over the sky with the company of stars. Their faint illumination granted me just enough light to see. A shiver overtook me as my body noticed the ice-cold temperature.

Starting a fire and cooking the meat were my priorities. I picked two branches from a nearby tree, but then I froze up. The realization that I had no idea how to start a fire hit me harder than the boar ever could. Recalling the stereotypical campfire-starting scenes I had seen in my past life didn’t help me at all. Nothing worked.

The slain boar dissolved into the lightless background. Heat accumulated in my body, not to keep me warm, but to blur my thinking and lead me to punch a tree as an outlet. It was a stupid decision, although at least I learned that my strength was gone. The tree didn’t snap in half from the hit; instead, it felt like my hand did. The pain lasted for an hour, and my knuckles bled to an extent that couldn’t be gauged in the dark.

I wasn’t able to cut open the boar; I wasn’t able to start a fire to cook its meat. The embrace of the boar’s fur and the warm interior of its stomach was out of reach. Branches worked poorly as mini-levers, earning me another failure as I tried to wedge the boar into the cave. My current body was just too weak, although it was apparently strong enough to hurt the boar. Was the boar made of Play-Doh? My mind was too tired to think anymore.

I collapsed in the cave, not sure if I had fainted or fallen asleep. The sound of animals would occasionally wake me from my slumber, but I probably still got more sleep than in the past, when I was slaving away at the lab until long past midnight.

My death came soon after I had completed my PhD in psychology. That achievement could not rescue me from the clutches of depression: the title of Doctor was not a magical panacea for all my issues. I couldn’t find any jobs at all. Even when I applied for lower-skilled jobs, they still rejected me on the grounds that I was overqualified. Should I have lied on my resume? The past four years of my life, scratch that, my whole life had been a waste.

The realization came too late that I had chosen the wrong professor as my supervisor. At first glance, his gentle smile painted him as someone amicable, and his caring attitude falsely advertised him as helpful. The result was four years of slaving away at his lab with barely adequate pay, piles upon piles of unreasonable tasks falling onto me, and the worst part was that after everything, he took all the credit for my hard work.

I didn’t complain because I thought this was expected of any PhD students, and by the time I realized my workload was too much, it was too late. The fear of consequences prevented me from reporting the professor. I was living at his mercy; he could assign even more work anytime, and worse, I could lose my subsidy and my position as a postgraduate. My financial situation wouldn’t allow that.

My parents died in a traffic accident when I was young. My grandpa raised me on his own, but he passed right after I graduated with my bachelor’s degree. By that time, his savings were drying up, so we both had to take on part-time jobs just to earn barely enough to live.

“Thomas, you need to continue learning, no matter what.” He told me this before he passed. This line stood out among his last words, almost as if it were part of his will. That was why I had to fulfill that wish, but reality was not so kind as to hand me this path. The medical bills were exorbitant, as were the student loans and living costs. I had little choice but to stay under the professor for that PhD student salary.

Day after day, I would beat myself up for the foolish mistake that cost me so much. I should have seen through his true nature. My years of studying psychology at university were all pointless in the face of the real world, so why did I learn it? During the sliver of free time I squeezed out while working, I doubled down and frantically searched for the answer deeper in the field. No single stone in psychology was left unturned, and I racked my brain to come up with ways to use the knowledge in my life.

Then, the day of my graduation ceremony came, but I felt nothing and got nothing. The other graduates celebrate with their relatives and friends, with enviable smiles etched on their faces, so blindingly shiny, as if they were looking down at me.

Despite how poorly the professor treated me, how much he liked to insult me, working under him had given me a source of income, although I knew he paid me solely because it was part of university regulations. And as much as I wanted to deny it, on some level, he might have truly valued me.

The frustrating part was that even if I had a time machine, even if I could redo things, I would probably still choose to work under the professor, because I had no other choice. There was no alternative route for me. I guess this must have been what “learned helplessness” felt like.

It wasn’t important anymore. Everything ceased to matter the moment my life ended, so I should embrace the escapism and enjoy the last show my mind had put on.