Potoo

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

The descriptions of life from a depressed man

I can't quite identify the objects around me. Everything is very familiar, but my head hurts when trying to name something that surrounds me. 

I know that some of these things existed in my life before, I just can’t recall when and why.

My body is numb and my mind is aching, the sensations in my skin bring me interwoven and unpleasant memories. I felt like my mind was floating and my body was not letting it float away. 

I recall that once I was happy, a very long time ago. I began to decay when problems took over my head. Today I can’t think about my problems anymore. As my mind is so taken by the overwhelming absence of light that my thoughts are too thick to move through. 

I hear what resembles my wife's voice. It feels like needles scraping my skin over a sweater. The overly warm feeling of the sheets makes me want to get out of bed, but I just wanted to sleep again. I try to close my eyes to rest, but everything around is staring at me. All those null unrecognizable faces disapproving my right to exist.
The light sprouts that enter the room through the imperfections of the window and the door give me a headache, the sound of the cartoons that my children watch on television gives me a migraine. 

I smell her scent from the other side of the bed, I recall the smell of a decaying animal, although I know how sweet that smell has been for me in the past. 

I think about how contextual my mind is, it makes my brain hurt. I can’t be nostalgic, it would make my mind hurt more. I am feeling nostalgic remembering the sweetest day in the world when I met her.

My heart wants to die when I remember how I was happy with her painting our walls purple. I still dream about her, but not as she is now. My heart wants to die when I remember how I loved her.
My mind wants to sleep when I think about those memories and how they lived more than my dreams. I didn’t want anything to get to an end. On that day we all won.
I think about how everything is a big mess of matter, and how life is randomly organized matter thinking about itself, and writing about itself. All of that makes my body fall asleep and makes my head lose itself even more in the maze that is built. I know that even if I fall asleep I will be miserable when I wake up, as the irrational and senseless rooms and faces in my dreams would haunt me even after my awakening.

I remember that nostalgia used to make me happy, but as my memories are slowly fading away to give room for negative energy, it only brings me sorrow. 

My wife yells at me, I can no longer understand the order of the words that come out of her mouth.

When our dreams became so far apart?

I can't reason and try to formulate an answer, to tell her everything I feel. I just can't do it, trying to do that adds to my pain. 

I just wanted to sleep again. Maybe I’ll dream about her, and we could dance in our living room painted purple. I remember how good I felt when I danced.
I can't stand my smell, I can't stand the feel of the fabric of my clothes against my skin, I can't stand the old wallpaper in the bedroom, I can't stand the sound of cars on the street, and I can't stand my wife and children. 

I started to hate myself a lot before they did, and I hate myself even more for hating them. Has everyone told me so often that love is unconditional and that this is the real meaning of life? It seems to me that I am not much like everyone else. 

I can’t recall what love feels like. Sadly, love isn't anymore the way it once was.

I can't measure time anymore, I can't focus on the things I do. Inertia owns my life, it pushes me and I keep being pushed in the big unstoppable wagon of time. I no longer remember what it feels like to feel good, I ignored my well being for so long that I must have forgotten that I was important. 

Less sad became the substitute for the word good in my life.

I don’t know if anyone knows what I am going through, and I simply don’t care. There’s nothing that they could do to help me. I think that I am no longer lucid all the time, as I caught myself lost in the nothingness of sorrow and white noise most of the time. The tangles in my head became so complex that my mind is just an infinity knot with so tiny ropes that it just looks like static. I used to feel something like that in my childhood when I stared for too long at those colored bars that appeared on the TV sometimes, or when I was alone in an empty mall when everyone left except for me. I didn’t know that was a feeling for that, now I live it for as long as I can remember. I am used to my body feeling numb all the time.
I heard the sound of the living room door close, and I no longer hear the sounds of cartoons on the television. A grain of sand of relief and happiness falls on the beach of confusion and sadness in my head. Painfully I sit on the bed, less sad to be out of inertia. I try to remember how to smile as I open the drawer, and I know that now nothing can hurt me anymore. I walk towards the bathroom, feeling my legs hurt. The air suddenly feels colder and I feel better. The cold metal in my hand shines and looking at it I feel what poetry looks like. I felt an almost sexual urge as iI inserted the barrel in my mouth. I wish for me to be awake to be able to see the yellowed tiles in my bathroom after they became dark red. 

 

Finally.


I close the bathroom door, with a remarkable posture. I like the lavender smell of my house. I leave my apartment. 

I go out dressed in my favorite clothes, wearing that shoe that makes no noise when I walk. There is no one in my building, not a single car in the garage, and the elevator was on my floor waiting for me. 

The streets are clean, I don't see traffic, I don't hear horns and screams, the wind blows and makes my skin feel good. The sky is cloudy as if it is about to rain.
I walk aimlessly through my favorite streets, the sound of my footsteps does not echo on the asphalt. I pass in front of a newsstand, just like the ones I attended when I was a child, I paid for a newspaper. I can't read anything that is written in that, I know that those are words, and I clearly remember that I can read, but everything is messed up.
I keep walking because I know that nothing here will make me sad. I see the coffee shop I used to visit with my friends many years ago. I go in and inside everything is as I remembered it. The waitresses walking around busy, the smiling cashier counting change, and my friends sitting at a booth, waiting for me. I join them and smile broadly when I hear Seagrave's silly stories. I order a coffee while I talk about jazz with Larry. Outside it rains a lot, the thick raindrops hit the window beside me. I feel at home, I feel like I never want to leave here again. Seagrave makes me spit coffee while I laugh. Julia offers me some of her cake.

As time went by I lost track. But I think I stayed there for more than a decade. I enjoyed the whole moment. Nobody ever left, it never stopped raining, nobody ever got tired, the food never lost its taste, and I loved them more and more.
Nostalgia surrounded my mind, I forgot how much I hated my wife and children. During a Seagrave story, I found myself thinking for the first time about the good times with my family. I spent years thinking about them, but I didn't want to leave. Maybe they would be gone when I got back.
I left the coffee shop, it stopped raining. I decided to walk back to my apartment, but I didn't remember where it was. The streets no longer made sense, I walked in a straight line and several storefronts repeated, I couldn't read what was written on each facade. The streets changed inclination, objects lost perspective, the texture of the ground changed and I felt it on my bare feet.
After what felt like a few years I managed to find my building, it was much grayer and shorter than I remembered. I took the elevator, it went up for a long time, much longer than it took me to find my street. It was the first time that I heard music, trumpet and oboe played a melancholy and happy melody. This melody reminded me of the feeling of cleaning my house after a birthday party. Happy to have fun, sad since all my friends left.
I felt scared when the elevator stopped, but nostalgia got me out of there. When I entered the apartment, the door behind me closed, in a dry, metallic sound.
Inside, there was no furniture, no people, nothing. Everything inside seemed much more raw and rational than the paradise I lived in the past few years. The carpeted floor made my feet feel sad. The blue and white striped wallpaper made my eyes want to close. The smell of mold made me retch. The echo of my breath made me want to scream. I knew my family was not there, and the nostalgia was not strong enough to make me endure that torture.
I opened the door and ran out of it with my eyes closed. The sensation did not stop. I slowly opened my eyes and found myself inside my apartment. My head hurt when I thought about how that was possible. I tried to leave through another door, I went into my old room. He made me feel like in the living room, all painfully empty. I left through another door, and I found myself again in the room. Everything hurt, my head throbbed, my body fell asleep and I felt trapped in a maze. 

I walked on the nearest straight line, without closing any doors. How can this be possible? The rooms seem infinite, nothing makes sense. The walls seem to stare at me, drying me with their coldness. The carpet looks dirty and worn. The doors creak when I open. 

I tried for many years to chart it, but nothing makes sense and my whole body hurts when I try to think about it. Room after room, everything is empty and makes me want to scream in frustration. 

Today I gave up. I lie down on the floor, I remember the sound of Seagrave's laughter, I remember Julia's hugs, and I remember my wife's deep gaze.

 


Submitted: December 06, 2020

© Copyright 2021 Leonardo Fazan. All rights reserved.

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