The Art of Learning to Love

Chapter 1 - On the Rocks

(Quick authors note, this chapter will discuss struggles of homelessness and mental health. Quick TW for some people who find that hard to read, sorry guys)

After 25 -maybe 26- years on this earth i can say for certain, whoever said running from your problems doesn't work...was fucking wrong. It's way easier to just keep moving, move quick enough and the problems almost stay where you last left them. Almost. 9 times out of 10, one of them finds you and it always ends up being the one you want to stay behind the most...mine just keep coming back to me, hitting the forefront of my brain like a cast iron pan.

The fact of the matter is, i have to keep moving to avoid my problems. It's cheaper than therapy, like i could afford it anyway. I'm lucky if I can get enough cash for a decent hot meal, let alone a licensed PHD brandishing human to tell me how shitty my life is and then to recommend "Reconnecting with nature" as my main form of self improvement. I'm sick of seeing nature at this rate, sleeping in parks, alleys and anywhere remotely warm, which is slim pickings in the middle of winter, is all the nature I need for a lifetime. You'd be surprised how many people just ignore the guy wrapped in a tattered blanket on the street - in all honesty, being the guy on the street is only slightly worse than being the guy in charge... whoever he is. I hear a lot about him when I sit in business bars, trying to bag a warm bed for the night, having to lead stuff, take ownership of things, be in command...it sounds gruelling but I'd take the money, house and stability over what I have...I just wouldn't want the responsibility of being in charge of people. It just leads to more problems and more running.

And that's all I am...the dude who doesn't stick around, doesn't connect, doesn't stay...and by the stars, its perfect.

Woah...thoughts got, oddly emotional there. Hate when that happens...back to now, right...what money do I have?
"One....Two...That makes four...shit." I mutter, the coins in my hands almost laughing at me as i stare down at them in my palm, the amount pitiful but it makes sense. The weather is terrible, I was lucky if i saw anybody today, let alone them feeling bad enough to drop some loose pocket change into a cup. I duck into a doorway, hoping it was enough cover to avoid the icy rain, delving into my pockets for anything. Loose change, a quarter, a penny!
Nope...empty handed. Don't know what I was expecting, the chances of me having money in my pocket is about the same chance of it raining gold - either situation I will happily take in my stride.
I bring my hand up to my hair, gripping at the roots in silent frustration, tears prickling at my eyes as I feel an sense of overwhelming hopelessness flood my body. I've gone hungry for days, the stomach pains only spurring on my fury as I pace along the small space of pavement, my foot kicking and attacking any inanimate object that is unfortunate enough to be in range. Bottles, beer cans, soda tops. My feet collide with them as I let out frustrated yells.

"Great...great great great GREAT!" On that last word, my foot kicks out, launching an empty soda can across the street, my eyes following it as a car whizzes past, crushing the can under it's wheel as it flashes its headlights, temporarily blinding me. As I shield my eyes, my fingers release the coins in my hand, the sound of them hitting the wet floor ringing in my ears. I instinctively drop, my hands roaming along the wet floor, rain and sludge soaking into my jeans as I lean on my knees, grabbing at anything that feels or looks coin like, rain hitting my back and dripping down into my face, muddling with my tears. My hand is full, standing, I open my hand to see what i grabbed, my eyes widening as bottle caps and stray stones fall through my fingers, leaving three pennies staring their worn faces at me. Tears dance on the skin of my cheeks as I scan the floor one more time, my anger growing. Nothing.

"Fuck, of course...it's always me, it's always me," I groan to myself, shaking my head as i grab my bag from the doorway, slinging it onto my back as I trudge down the street, my grip tightening around the merge amount of money in my hand. No where to sleep, nothing to eat, no coat to warm my chilled bones...I'm fucked.