/lit/ - Literature

The following chapter in my life was brief and bordered on totally unremarkable. I was committed to a psychiatric facility in A———— city from which I was promptly released, homeless and on the streets. On my first day as a vagrant I wandered tired, exhausted, and sweating in the summer heat from dawn until just after twilight, before reaching a railroad bridge at an intersection. That is where I stayed for several days, sleeping in trash during the day and waking just after dark to wander the railroad praying for the courage to die.

At one point I recall passing a crowded restaurant with many happy couples outside— the sound of their laughter and scent of food stirred in me some deep-seated "otherness." It felt as though I were intruding upon a stranger's home— as if it were an alien world that I was never meant to be a part of, and that my mere presence would taint their happiness. I felt as though every glance in my direction were a condemnation of my very existence, that I had been "found out," that the "interloper" had been caught, and that I would soon be put on trial and convicted. My fear of being seen became so extreme that I made a point never to leave the cover of the bridge until after everything had closed. Whenever I was unable to fall asleep during the day, I would listen to the vehicles and their drivers stopping at the intersection less than five meters away, unaware of my troublesome existence. Even at the bridge, I felt like an alien.

After a few days of wandering, my thirst became so extreme that I resolved to kill myself or in some way find assistance. I cried, I fell to the ground, I examined discarded bottles— in the end I scribbled a small note begging for water, but when I held it in my shaking hand and practiced what I would say, my social anxiety became so severe that I decided then and there that it would be better to die. That night I slept beside the railroad tracks— unsurprisingly, I did not end my life. When I awoke in the afternoon, underneath the sweltering heat of the summer sun, I staggered my way parched, broken, and praying for death towards the bridge; As I approached, I noticed a police vehicle waiting for me.

I was returned to the asylum and sent for long-term treatment. My stay at the X——— regional hospital was short and uneventful— I experienced minor abuse once and successfully escaped for several hours— aside from this, not much else occurred.