Empathy

I pass him every morning.
Come rain or shine.
There he is.
Cheerful.
Always cheerful.
Doffing his horrid little hat.
In that unique grandiose manor of his.
Once he even winked at me.
I was shamed.
Felt the panic rising.
Growing in momentum.
Until I thought that I could possibly self combust.
Stupid really.
As if that was going to happen.
As if …
Sometimes I try an alternative route.
But for some inexplicable reason he is there as well.
Waiting.

For me?

I can’t look him in the eye.
Because of the fear.
He knows about the fear.
It pleases him.
That I fear.

He remembers the 1980’s

Another life.
Another person.
Not me.
Not me now.
I shop in Waitrose.
I buy my clothes down the Lanes in Brighton.
I eat out frequently in the best restaurants.
I take 5 or 6 holidays a year.
I have a nice house.
I have a nice car.

How could that be me?

How low can a person sink before they disappear completely?

Thieves, rapists, paedophiles and murderers become your closest friends.
You connect with the person and not with the act.
The act is immaterial to you anyway.
Meaningless.
Anything is possible.
And frequently is.
The mentally ill make you laugh with their craziness.
The rapists are always guarded and in constant denial.
The thief is a thief is a thief.
One paedophile was such a dear friend to me even though he had a penchant for young boys under the age of ten.
The murderer had instant kudos.
King of the fucking castle.
To spend a day in his company had guaranteed benefits within the hierarchy of your peers.
I relished it.
I worked it.
Used it to my advantage.
Had an impenetrable air about myself that made the others think twice.
Unpredictable.
Nasty.
Cruel and sadistic.
Thursdays were always the best day of the week.
This was when we all got our dole money.
No more dog ends rolled up in tampax wrappers.
No more begging for food from the psycho chef.
No more nefarious acts … for a few days anyway!
What to spend my £8.50 on this week?
Once you bought the booze and the tobacco there was not much left.
You had to survive.
Like ghosts we floated through life with not even a backwards glance from the rest of society.
No one cared.
We knew that no one cared.
It united us.
Bonded us against what we saw as the uniformed conformity of the masses.
The walking dead.
At least we were alive …
We not only tasted life we actually savoured every single morsel or scrap that we could find or acquire.

That was then and this is now.
And now.

Now what?

See this is the problem.

Empathy.

I am struggling with that damn word.
I can barely even write it down let alone say it out aloud.
It sticks in my throat like a malignant tumour.
Threatening and taunting me with manic glee.
Corrupting my mind.
Corroding my senses.

EMPATHY
EMPATHY
EMPATHY

I cannot do it.
It is not within me anymore.
Does that make me a bad person?
Does it?
I cannot even relate to myself as I once was let alone anyone else!
I figure that if I managed to get out.
Then why didn’t they?
Why are they still there?
Everywhere I look.
Everywhere I go.
Still waiting.
Without a fucking care in the world.
So happy and optimistic about what exactly…
What?
The page will only turn if you are interested in the next chapter.
Otherwise you just stay the same.
Am I being harsh?
Please tell me.
Help me heal the pain.

I want to breathe …

And tomorrow I will see him again.
Like I do everyday.
And I will scuttle by.
Pretending that I don’t know who he is.
And he will smirk.
And doff his hat.
And I will be shamed again.