I wake up with a terrible taste in my mouth, I’m not sure where it comes from, not sure where I come from or for the sake of argument, where I am.
I pry my eyes open. Not much help there. I see shadows, no light source, just patches that are darker than others. Was I always blind? I’m struggling to remember anything about anything right now. Ahh… Something appears…. A glow in the dark wolf stamp on the back of my hand tells me I was at The Pack -the club outside of town known for its Electro music, dark corners and overly friendly clientele. I go every other month when I’m bored and need a thrill.
But other than that, I have nothing. The room is slightly damp. I think I can smell mould; it’s hard to tell apart from the overpowering scent cocktail I’m blanketed in – a fresh blend of smoky clothing, vile bile and aged beer. There’s a touch of burnt plastic somewhere in there, too.
I’m lying down on my side, fetal style. My hand slides across the bare mattress top, crumbs of some sort pile up under my palm, my fingers sense an indentation in the mattress just across from me; I move slowly. It’s warm, it’s alive, as alive as I am. Their skin feels like polystyrene soaked in acetone.
At some point in your life, you look around and you think: “What the fuck am I doing here?” At some point you wake up in a crack den with your clothes half on, a taste of condom in your mouth and one lonely Benjamin in your pocket when you know you’re broke. At some point, you know you’ve hit rock bottom and you can either fester in the vile mess you call a life, or get the fuck up, ask for help and break the inertia.
I have yet to find that point.
I wonder if finding that point is the same as falling in love. You always wonder what it feels like until you’re there… But then, maybe you meet someone else, and you think to yourself “Oh shit, this! This is real love, no idea what I mislabeled last time, infatuation, maybe” I think the same thing happens with hitting rock bottom; because the same way that you can fall from higher heights, one can also keep on digging. Truth is, only one true rock bottom exists, and it’s normally 6 feet beneath the surface.
I want to look into the abyss where despair meets opportunity, where isolation is rewarded with freedom, and death is a mere twitch away from getting you. Maybe there I’ll be able to feel something, maybe there I’ll find something I’m scared of losing.