Holding On To Heartache

Chapter 1

The wind, it held your soul, but
We knew that all would change
Creates the strangest feelin'
Just know they waitin' for the end
I still have dreams about it
The moment since they came
The moment's never shown towards
Because we faded into darkness

The room is cold and so is his heart. The darkness he lies in couldn't better represent what he looks like inside. He doesn't manage to be strong anymore and doesn't know for whom exactly either. He has no one to live for and his own life is, always has been, so pathetic that he just doesn't want it anymore. He has given up. Again and again the most normal things trigger him, letting his demons emerge again, stretching out their claws after him, wanting to pull him further into the darkness. Fought against it for years, suppressed and yet lost. Because today, the demons won.

Despite the pills to keep his PTSD under control and the sleeping pills he's been on since he was a young boy, he's never been able to forget, never sleeped or lived a normal life without nightmares. The wounds will never heal and the insecurities will never end. Where there used to be fear, now there is only relief at his decision. Slowly he turns his head to the side and searches with his hand for the light switch of his small lamp next to the mattress on which he's lying. He lets his gaze wander over his sparsely furnished bedroom for the last time. In addition to his mattress on the floor, he only has a small wardrobe. He had painted the walls black when he moved in, can't stand or endure anything that seems even the slightest bit cheerful or colorful, this also applies to other people. It's a small apartment with only a kitchenette and an even smaller bathroom. Barely able to pay the rent every month, even for this size. The job in the bar doesn't pay much but it's enough to survive, he often lives on the cheapest food. The only thing he has consumed excessively in recent years has been alcohol and meaningless fucks to fill the emptiness inside him for a brief moment.

But he decides not to die here in this desolate place. He wants to take his last breath under the open sky, watch the stars and imagine that one of them is his mother, who will welcome him after his death. Almost happily he takes his still sealed pack of his sleeping pills, ties his long hair in a bun at the nape of his neck and just puts on his shoes before leaving his apartment. It's winter, a cold wind is blowing through the streets of London and it's snowing, but he doesn't care that the strong rapid fall quickly soaks his sweater. The cold inside him is a thousand times worse than what the snow can do to his skin. He stops briefly on the street and looks up, because it's snowing there are no stars to be seen and sighing, he continues on his way to his destination. He takes in all the noises and impressions around him one last time, says goodbye to this shitty world that never had anything good in store for him. Every now and then a car drives past him and he smells the waste gas, hears the snow crunches under his feet and his breath is visible in the cold air. It's the middle of the night and so he only encounters another drunk man who is talking to himself and doesn't pay any attention to him. When he finally reaches Regent's Park he breathes a sigh of relief, the last minutes in which he has to torture himself have begun and he walks a little further until he finds a bench. It's under one of the big trees and not quite covered in snow. He sits down on it, feels his pants getting wet - but he doesn't care either.