Waking up this morning, I felt as though I had been chewing on dried-up cow pies all night. My mouth seemed to be stuffed with bits and pieces of grit and dried up bits of dead plant life. I couldn’t tell what it was or where any of it came from. All I could tell is that it tasted like shit.

I spat, or tried to anyway, it was more of an attempt at spitting out dried crud and only succeeding in blowing a load of air and dried up spittle bits. I had to find something to wash this taste and crap out of my mouth. I slowly staggered to my feet and blearily looked around to gain my bearings. I was astonished to discover that I was in some kind of a room that looked pretty run-down. I wondered how I got here.

Seeing the doorway, I slowly made my way deliberately to the door by steadying myself with the wall. I could feel my fingers and hand sliding along a slippery substance that seemed to adhere to every inch of that wall. I tried not to let what that slippery substance might be to distract me. Rather, I found that the need to concentrate on my walking and balance was far more important.

After what seemed minutes rather than seconds, my hand closed upon the doorknob and I turned. Damn! The door wouldn’t give. I jiggled the handle, looked for a locking mechanism and stood up scratching my ass. Where the hell am I, how did I get here and how the hell do I get out?

I slowly turned to survey the room once again. My second look revealed a few more sordid details. The mattress I had been lying on lay in the middle of the floor. There was newspaper strewn all over the room and the ones on the bed looked like they’d been used for blankets by an army of vagrants. Am I to suppose I’m a vagrant now?

Oh shit! Slowly, the truth began to dawn on me. I slowly ambled to the furthest corner of the room. That’s where I climbed in the hole in the floor to make my way in here for the night. Was it last night? How long have I been here? My bones felt weak. I don’t think I have any muscles left. I’ve wasted away to pretty much nothing.

I crawled through the hole and came out in back of an old abandoned rail-yard shack. The track had been abandoned way back in the 50’s and the shack, a throwback to the days of the switching guard, stood quietly amongst the tree’s along this deserted spur. Blinking rapidly, trying to get accustomed to the bright sun, I surveyed the landscape.

Further up the spur, you could see that the tracks just ended into a dead-end of trees. Looking back down the other direction, the city awaits. I turn back towards the city, stopping by the side of the shack, pick up my belongings and begin the trek. It only takes about 30 minutes to actually reach the city outskirts but it’ll be another two hours before I can make it to the kitchen. I’m hungry.

I can always tell when I’m hungry. It’s the only time I feel any real pain anymore. Even then, it’s still a dull ache that doesn’t mean much to me anymore. I just know I have to eat. I’ve given it some thought the past three months and I have figured out that I probably only manage to eat on average, five meals a week. Not much for a man who used to be physically fit, father of two, and when at my peak, 184lbs. I was pretty well sculpted for an average guy.

Well, that’s far behind me now. Now I’m enjoying the good life, the life of Reilly. It’s not so bad really. I sleep when I want to sleep. I don’t have to worry about pleasing a boss, a wife, children, bill collectors, landlords, or anyone else for that matter. It used to be so hard. I mean, I started out okay but then things weren’t going so good at work anymore, then my wife and I separate, then the bills started piling up, I tried the food bank, I worked three jobs, I collapsed, was hospitalized and so on.

Now this wouldn’t have been so bad if it had stopped there and I’d had a chance to recover. You know what I mean. When bad stuff happens, a bunch of stuff always seems to come at once. My ex-wife and I used to say they happened in three’s and then good things would come again. Somehow, that didn’t happen though. The bad stuff just kept coming. I never got a breather. I was never allowed enough breathing room to get my feet back underneath me.

Every time something happened and it seemed that I could see the light at the end of the tunnel, something else would take my feet out from underneath me. I’d stay strong for a while, not panic, and try to let things work out. Quickly, more things began to overcome my optimism. Before long, the weight of all the problems drove me to run. I couldn’t handle it anymore. Turn to God I was told. Have faith people said. It’ll turn around soon.

In reality, I kept feeling like I was minutes away from a painful death. My head always felt like it was going to blow. The viciousness of the personal blows I received had begun to affect my mind, my spirit and my emotions. People found me difficult to be with. Anger arose in me that had never found purchase before. I became frustrated with life and with people. People, why can’t people give each other breathing room? 

Actually, I shouldn’t say it like that. In fact, I got a lot of breathing room. But that is where the problem lay. I was alone to face all of those burdens myself. It was too much for a single man to bear. Death, illness, financial ruin, career in tatters, confidence shot, family torn apart, all had a part in my demise. This carried on for a period of years. Each time I came close to pulling myself up and over the edge of the abyss, it would seem as though some cruel joker was standing on the lip ready to stomp on my fingers. If my fingers wouldn’t budge, he’d stomp on my hands. Slowly I’d slip back down into this abyss. I spent quite some time there and it became comfortable. Each time I fell backwards, away from the goals I had set based upon a previous life of enjoyment and success, I found myself accepting my new surroundings more easily. I can see now that I should have ran scared in the opposite direction and strived even harder. I didn’t know it would swallow me up eventually. I just got tired, that’s all. I didn’t have any fight left anymore.