There are fears unbeknownst to mankind, certain degrees of flavors that most never contemplate having to taste. Perhaps your fear is one of being unloved, forgotten, replaced, financially unstable or something graver, such as being homeless?
My life had never been one of glory, recognition or comfort. Being impoverished I was well accustomed to. Many times it didn’t even occur to me that I was ‘poor’ or ‘desolate’. This was just how life was, and I accepted it as it should be. Even throughout the pitfalls of my impoverishment, being homeless was perhaps the last befallen moment I would’ve expected.
I remember one summer evening, staring into the vast, abysmal skyline with miniscule diamonds scintillating afore my eyes as I was lost in contemplation. I wondered, “How did I end up here, where my roof was the sky and my bed was the earth beneath me?” I attempted to map out all of the recent occurrences that lead up to me being without a sanctuary to call ‘home’.
It had been three long, pain-staking years of being in an abusive marriage that lead to my petition for a divorce. Something that should’ve brought me joy and liberation, in fact made me bound to Mother Nature for every kind of solace one can imagine. I moved 7 times within a year, attempting to find someone to take me in, or merely acclimating to myriad inanimate objects for warmth. The unheard cries of my testimony, yearning to fall into someone’s bosom, were neglected as the only love I knew came from Polaris and its guidance throughout the darkness.
What is left of a man after he becomes a beggar? How far can you stretch the human volition or even the human ego without it caving in upon its self? Days turned into weeks, which turned into months and before I knew it, a year passed without a place to call my home. I crossed the finest line between genius and madness as I bathed in the simplicity of insanity. As I lost touch with reality, I became a slave to my own embodiment. I felt immured within my fleshly vessel, lost between a realm of intense paroxysm and one of utter displacement. What does one fight for, when one has lost everything?
Resilience was my only panacea. Seemingly, I escaped death. Streetlights became my sunlight as I became a crepuscular creature. The daytime was dangerous, for the night became the softest womb sheltering me in infinite shadows. At times I felt like an animal, being forced into a cage without any decision or control whatsoever. The world’s wicked whispers were reverberating upon every facet of my mind. This mortal coil was the faintest trickery one could ever imagine. Life was palpable to me, but not nearly as much as death was. I became cohorts with death itself. I could taste of it in every hour of my fleeting thoughts; I promenaded by its side and became its die-hard student. Darkness became my light and empty mausoleums became my homestead.
I found nothing worth living for, and everything worth dying for. My personal mantra became “I have every reason to die; I just need one reason to live.” Despite all atrocities, I couldn’t find that one meager reason to keep living. Suicide plagued me in all travail, as if I were birthing death itself. To this day, a plethora of scars adorn my supple body and at scarce times I refer to my razorblade as my nearest and dearest of friends. Stitch upon stitch that I neglected, oh how lovely I thought death must be! The pain became the only source of my living, and yet, it was also the only source of my dying.
Blur amid blur, faces mocked me in mimicry, sounds became tokens of betrayal and food only ushered forth the bile that taunted my insatiable hunger. My life was but a vagary of premonitory dereliction ‘” and I was the marionette. One might say that I learned the most valuable bit of wisdom one could learn — That to have more, one should desire less.
The worst year of my life had become the year that I learned more in than my two decades of breathing before it. Would I change this occurrence? Nay — I would merely replay it to the ends of the earth so that neither trial nor tribulation could ever sway my intentions of loving life and living my days out until death decides to be my lover once more.
To have more, I truly desire less. I now see everything around me as a painstaking gift, whether it’s the novelty or triviality of discussions to even the most meager of succulent delicacies. Nothing is to be taken for granted, not ever again…