My house is what you see when you leave yours, my house is the street. I’ve tried everything to get a new life- my wife doesn’t accept me at home, every time I try to get a job, they immediately reject me, I guess I must be no-one.
I’m twenty-three and I’ve ruined the rest of my life. I hardly remember the good times: my house, the feeling of love and respect, my two children. I can’t even remember my face reflected in the mirror. My life had been fulfilling, full of pleasure and trust, until I started to drink. Some nights I remember going home drunk, eating a bit and then left home again for “the morning cognac.” Others, I didn’t even appear. Truthfully, I don’t remember much of that.
I have had time to think about this world- full of haste and personal greed. I have no way out of the streets. As people walk by my home they see me and stare. I don’t know what it is. It may be my bear- long, scruffy, and uncombed hair. Maybe, it’s my horrible appearance and smell, or maybe it might be part of life, living as a tramp. I embarrass them.
The sun marks the days go by as the moon marks the nights go by- I mark the disorientation in the world. I beg, and I receive just enough money to keep me going- I get a piece of bread a day, and if I’m lucky some bottled meat. No worry about the water, I get that from the public toilets. How pathetic, I don’t remember the taste of real water, but I can still taste the bitter taste of whiskey in my mouth.
Sometimes images and memories struggle into my mind, but when I try to focus, they shatter and slowly fade. My life is just pointless. It’s all simple routine. I wake up early- by the morning breeze clapping against cardboard sheets. I do what I can exploring every corner of the streets and with more detail into the rubbish. I’m ashamed
Philosophers say that you get what you give. Now, I can prove that is true, but what about the second opportunity that God always gives us and that society won’t accept? Men are the only animals that drop over the same rock twice. I did it many times, over and over again: the same story. I wish I hadn’t have shut all the doors of my life. I wish that I could repair all the mistakes, I wish… Better stop dreaming, time doesn’t travel.
I started drinking for fun- it gave me a comforting feeling that substituted sex and gave me more security, I even seemed to believe I was a better person. Then, nights that I got drunk became more and more frequent. “I just need another drink, just one more” I used to repeat, and those harsh words still eco in me. With this came the problems that I wouldn’t want to face, so I just kept drinking. Problems became serious- I didn’t want to see what was really in front of me.
I’m confused; disorientated. I don’t know what my next step will be. I don’t know if I will end up in hospital again. I don’t know if I will wake up tomorrow morning. My moods change like seconds. My emotions contradict each other. Even in dreams I see both of me fighting against each other: I have no clue what this means. I always feel cold, but I don’t need a blanket. I need hot soup- a hug. That’s the last opportunity I’m asking for, but nobody is interested in approaching me. That’s the way things go. I embarrass them.
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