I take a drag off my smoldering cigarette. The icon for my state of demise. I decide I am floundering in a sea of denial with only a pack of lifesavers to keep me afloat. Marveling at the thought I wonder if anyone else would find it profound.
You may term me a loser or failure but I prefer the following description: I am an artist and a dreamer. I can be bold and brazen then suddenly tongue tied and shy. i am a child struggling to grow up in mid life more out of necessity than desire. ADHD keeps me disorganized and incomplete.
I have the same dream over and over. I am following a shadow down a narrow path. It is night and the fog is so thick I can't see anything but i feel safer than I ever have in my life. He turns to me and tells me its is imperative not to think or speak only to follow. He tells me to pick a mantra to avoid conscious thought. I can never remember the word I pick. The dream leaves me with the illusion I am okay.
On this particular morning I wake up with an unusual sensation of resolution. It is about halfway through my morning coffee and cigarette that i realize I had "the dream" again and that the feeling was simply a residual. My false sense of security scuttles off to the bedroom to wait for another opportunity. I stare out the window and ponder stark reality.
The feeling of resolution suddenly turns to dread; cold, panicky, stifling dread. I am restless but there is nothing for me to do. My hands are bound by my own life choices. My legs are tethered by my lack of career and my mouth is gagged with poverty. I am furious with myself. I wasn't born into poverty. My father was successful. I was given every opportunity to succeed. I glare into the mirror. A shadow passes behind me as I stare at the room's reflection. Startled, I turn but see nothing unusual.