Humanity Lost. Chapter One, Part One
By jlp303
- 859 reads
The hill. It was meant to signify new hope; a fresh start; new beginnings and all those other tired clichés. But as soon as the first bailiff letter arrived (having received so many, I knew it was bailiffs as soon as I spotted the return address on the back), the illusion that these four great walls and amazing across the valley views that this house of the hill offered, quickly dissipated. My usual state(s) of mind, in particular my perception of the world, came flooding back at the arrival of that letter, after what had seemed months detached from them.
Really, it had only been two months. The month prior to the move, which had been full of excitement and anticipation; and the month after, where everyday and pretty much everything had been fresh and new. How quickly reality had returned and I had been forced to retreat to my usual diversionary tactic of finding as many distractions as I could for both my physical self and my mind.
None of these distractions work of course and in the still of day and at the dead of night, all the pain and heartbreak of the past few months comes flooding back. It distorts how I see the world; all the people within my particular part of it and, most importantly for me, the view I have of myself. So, who am I?
Let’s start with what I can tell you about without having to dig too deep or search any one of my many souls. I’m thirty one, married (seven years) and have two children, the perfect balance of a boy and girl. We live in a three bedroom rented house on the side of a hill in the heart of Shropshire, with a view that is quite simply stunning on a clear day. I don’t work and haven’t since last year, so am grateful that my dear wife does. She pays the bills, provides for the kids and keeps me in cigarettes. Without wishing to get all ‘Bridget Jones’, I smoke a lot. The combination of (un)healthy doses of nicotine, vast amounts of codeine (effervescent co-codomols) and coke (the branded drink, rather than the drug) gets me through even the hardest of days. I’ve tried drinking and it just doesn’t suit me, with even the smallest amount of alcohol giving me a headache, and my drug taking days are long behind me. Since being unemployed, I’ve re-invented myself as house husband cum child carer. I excel at cooking dinners, doing washing and cleaning.
I mention these things not because they are very interesting, but because they make up ninety nine percent of who I am. You see, I consider myself to function rather than live. I know my function within every aspect of the day and carry out these functions invariably without question. Living, or ‘having a life’, is reserved for people other than me. Good looking people, people with friends, people who can offer something emotionally to others. Everything I am not. Besides, I have had my chance at living and found out that I am not that good at it.
So, who am I?
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a good start, but maybe
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