Trying to write a fucking monologue about some old man who is

>>8319763
Almost certainly.

>>8319763

I started a short story about a man who lived alone his entire adult life, was very introverted, had no close friends and nobody but the minister came to his funeral. He lived a forgotten life and died a forgotten death.

It's the inverse of what you are writing.

Why does he want to be forgotten? Is there anyone left that he wants to remember him? Did he ever do anything that would be memorable?

Read The Death of Ivan Ilyich, my man.

Ivan Ilyich could see that he was dying, and he was in constant despair.
In the depths of his soul Ivan Ilyich knew he was dying but, not only could he not get used to the idea, he didn’t understand it, couldn’t understand it at all.
All his life the syllogism he had learned from Kiesewetter’s logic9 - Julius Caesar is a man, men are mortal, therefore Caesar is mortal - had always seemed to him to be true only when it applied to Caesar, certainly not to him. There was Caesar the man, and man in general, and it was fair enough for them, but he wasn’t Caesar the man and he wasn’t man in general, he had always been a special being, totally different from all others, he had been Vanya with his mama and his papa, with Vitya and Volodya, with his toys, and the carriage-driver, then little Katya,10 with all the delights, sorrows and rapture of childhood, boyhood and youth. Did Caesar have anything to do with the smell of that little striped leather ball that Vanya had loved so much? Was it Caesar who had kissed his mother’s hand like that, and was it for Caesar that the silken folds of his mother’s dress had rustled the way they did? Was he the one who had rebelled at law school over the provision of snacks? Had Caesar been in love like him? Could Caesar chair a session like him?
Yes, Caesar is mortal and it’s all right for him to die, but not me, Vanya, Ivan Ilyich, with all my feelings and thoughts - it’s different for me. It can’t be me having to die. That would be too horrible.
These were the feelings that came to him.
‘If I had to be like Caesar and die, I would have been aware of it, an inner voice would have told me, but there hasn’t been anything like that on the inside. I’ve always thought - and all my friends have, too - that we’re not the same as Caesar. And now look what’s happened!’ he said to himself. ‘It can’t be. It can’t be, but it is. How can it be? What’s it all about?’
He couldn’t understand, and he tried to banish the idea - it was false, wrong and morbid - and replace it with proper, healthy thinking. But the same thought - it wasn’t just a thought but something that seemed like reality - kept coming back and facing him.

and so on