The terrible rut I’ve been in is just a symptom of the life I’ve lead.
The life I’ve lived has been torturous and euphoric and stagnant and chaotic and confusing and lucky and tragic and repulsive and unlucky and so many fucking things. The life I’ve lived has been awesome. That’s right. Awesome. Not like “radical or cool or wonderful. Worthy of awe.
I can’t turn my life around on a cliche because I won’t live life on anyone’s orders but my own. I have got so much fucking life to live. Who the fuck does my brain think it is, holding my back like this. The world deserves me and I deserve it and all it has to offer.
Why would someone let their endless past awesome experiences hold them back? Doesn’t make much sense, does it?
The rut is disorienting. It could suck you in for a lifetime, but I’m done being this hollow self. I’ve identified the symptom and now it’s time to eradicate it.
I smile at him and stumble exaggeratedly. I slyly take a photo of the license plate as I pass, because there’s no way I’ll be able to remember it right now. I light a cigarette and once I’m out of view of the van I start running. I see a dumpster and crouch behind it. With the police on speaker I ding the photo of the license plate and tell them everything. After that, I keep wandering so as to not be seen by the robbers. Eventually, I’m sobered up my feet ache and my legs wobble. I call an Uber and sleep the night off.