Hello. How are you? If yes, well, I’m glad you’re doing well. If no, well, then don’t worry: you’ll soon see your life isn’t possibly worse than mine.
I was born in 1978, in a small hospital in Las Vegas, Nevada. It was there when I first learned what rejection of a woman meant. Apparently, to my mother, I was an ugly, hideous thing, and as such, she didn’t want me. I was pretty young, but I think I knew she didn’t want me and I wasn’t able to stop crying as a result.
Fast forward five years, and I’ve been in an orphanage. The orphanage wasn’t so bad – it was run by this couple who really liked children and the kids themselves, at least some of them, were okay. Still, there were others who liked to pick on us, particularly me. It didn’t help that I had gone blind. I had a dog then that helped guide me around and they shot it in the backyard. No one told on them and I was too scared to speak up. And even still, they were eventually adopted – them and my friends – but I just kept sitting there, unable to go anywhere or be picked up. No one wanted a sub-par child, I suppose.
Eventually, when I was 11, the feds found out the couple was using the orphanage as an undercover meth lab and, as such, I was put out on the streets. I would usually just sit on a corner somewhere and ask for money. I usually got cups full of piss and spit; my money was often stolen instead.
As I got sicker from starvation, I noticed something worse: I couldn’t hear the street cars or the cats meowing. In addition to being blind, I had gone deaf.
From this point on, I was taken in by a woman who was able to get through that her name was Sharon. Sharon was kind, from what I could tell. She enrolled me in a program that aided the disabled. I had never really considered that before, but I suppose that’s what I was: disabled.
One by one, my senses left me – my tongue lost its appreciation for chocolate cake, my nose forgot the smell of sweet roses, and my touch pricked no needles anymore.
I was officially in darkness and I had thought, for so long, I was dead. I wasn’t sure when I used the bathroom, when I was fed, or if I even slept. I was trapped in a large space, floating on a black ocean, and looking up at a black sky. I couldn’t feel anything and I didn’t know if I were actually dead.
I remember often imagining the foods and the other pleasures a man could get, imagining the Sun rising and setting, the averageness of a life unlike this.
It was truly insufferable: existing and wondering if I’m even alive. I constantly prayed to a God I didn’t believe in to release this Hell – this nothingness. I went insane, over and over, and tried to kill myself, yet I was never sure if I was even successful.
So, you may think your life is horrible, but at least you feel pain. My heart’s had enough, but I wouldn’t know – I’m trapped in Limbo, alive and well.