The Hopeless Walk of Life

The cement under my feet is the only constant of which I can depend. I wander along the busy streets observing the steam escaping from the underbelly of the city, through the vented manhole covers, that hide the secrets of a functioning, well-tuned metropolis.

These six years, living on the streets, have paralyzed my physical and mental well-being. Losing my job intensified all my ills, including my addiction to alcohol, to a point of self-destruction. I even gambled away all of my liquid assets to achieve that designated goal of financial freedom; needless, to say, that did not happen.

My home went into foreclosure, and my wife and children went on to find a more suitable, more stable place to live without me. My life was in a downward, hostile spiral where I lived in comfortable darkness and isolation.

All those who I knew and loved had depleted all of their resources, emotions, and support to try to bring me back to the life I once lived. I denounced their efforts to help me and, therefore, rid myself of their existence.

How did I get here? I listlessly walk along the crowded, city streets, clutching my thin jacket to my small frame, where I ever so slightly and quickly look into the eyes of the random passer-by. Some are gentle in their return gaze but most look fearful and repulsed.

I can no longer live under the pretense that, someday, life will return to normal; it is a farce, not a reality! I must come to the realization that not all things in life turn out for the best; well, not for me, anyway.

My struggle and survival have become a nuisance and laden with too much responsibility. I must let go and allow myself to be free of all my turmoil, pain and suffering. I no longer have the will to continue this journey, literally and figuratively; I notice my strides are becoming more stringent, and my future more muddled and obscure.

I can feel the desperation as it becomes the core of my being. I reflect back to what was, and now, to what is. I relinquish my former self and claim my new, fragmented identity. Oddly, a sense of relief overcomes me, because I no longer exist nor matter in the universe. There are others who feel as I do, but I, unfortunately, can't seem to feel their pain; yet, we meld together and become one.

I see, up ahead, the dim, interior lights are on in the soup kitchen and decide to wander in; greeted by warm air, I proceed in line to receive a generous helping of chili with a nice chunk of bread. The kitchen staff is always kind and non-judgmental; yet, it doesn't negate the judgment and punishment I place upon myself. I have lost everything, e.g., my integrity, my financial means, my home, my career, and most importantly, my family.

I understand that after the divorce, my wife and kids have moved on and found love and stability once again; things I no longer was capable of providing.

These six years, on the streets, have been debilitating and crippling; and, as I reflect back on the first year, I found that I relied on partial lucidity to carry me through the day. I was somewhat cognitive enough to believe that this was all temporary, and I would find my way home; that, no longer is the case. I am living in a displaced, parallel world away from the ready-made and hopeful existence that is now just a distant memory.

I feel, as though, I am having an out-of-body experience where my spirit is willing and is watching over the wretch I have become; unworthiness creeps in and is relentless in its quest.

Alcohol, my liquid demise, is so powerful that it is now linked to my occasional drug use. Lengthy days and tortuous nights sometimes compel me to recognize the pull of freedom and to extinguish the poisons that I seek; sadly, the demons win and disorientation and destruction follow.

Time ceases to exist for I no longer need the value of time nor its designation. Everyday lapses into night, and my then blurry thoughts are, again, filled with dread and despair standing at tomorrow's door.

Life is no longer life; it's death on overtime. I can't remember beauty, joy, friendship, or even love and commitment. Things so simple and free are beyond my reach.

Time is not on my side, and broken is just plain broken. Lies you tell yourself initiate the decline. Your gradual and increasing enjoyment of illicit drugs and alcohol leads to intense desire which leads to overwhelming necessity; the bottomless pit.

My past continues to seep into my clouded mind as I try to remember my loving wife paired with her warm compassion and support; yet, after much time, compassion ran out and support became non-existent. My kids, on the other hand, were very young at the time of my domestic crisis; they were ages six and four and seemed submerged into their safe and loving environment; but, was that really the case?

The streets are now my home. I own them and co-exist with the others who own them, too! I travel the same streets, see the same places of business, and recognize the same families and neighbors that gather outside of their homes to compare their day's different events. There, in the midst of sameness and difference, I seek out my place of solitude and seclusion.

I have become one with this erratic and unpredictable universe. It has molded me, and not the other way around. I surrender to its fingers of captivity and feel privileged to do so.

Here in the darkness, that envelops me, and in the silence, that seems deafening, I lie down, out of sight, on the harsh and solid concrete that releases its icy blanket beneath me. There are no lights to illuminate my existence, so, I nestle back into a fetal position, from whence I came out of my mother's womb, allowing the cruel, cold elements to claim me. As I feel the life draining out of me and numbness traveling through my extremities, my heart rate slows, along with my breaths becoming more shallow. Tearfully, I welcome the long, deep sleep that will finally take me to my celestial home, and, with a lump in my throat, I ....