The Definition of Dysania (A Collection of Short Trepidations)

ʜᴇɴᴄʜᴍᴀɴ (1)

I never used to be invisible.

Think back, way back, to white stone walls, colorful posters, loud talking screaming whispering, and crowds.
In school, you were always seen. Constantly.

Whether you wanted to be, or not.

You were seen by the teacher when you raised your hand to answer a question. You were seen in the hallway by the kid that thought you were walking too slow and imagined punching you.

You were seen on graduation day when you got sent off with your fancy pieces of paper, a zest for life, and ambition.

Oh, ambition always seems to burn away and decay into ash first.

You see, when you get older, you have to have this thing called a job. A terrible thing, that.

You either go to a beautiful former mansion with huge echoing halls to learn about the mysteries of your universe, or you pull yourself up by your bootstraps and fall into the drying mud after the storm of your adolescence.

You realize things either way. I realized that I don't care about other's morals.

You might be thinking, "oh, but certain things are wrong, and others are right. How much more simple can it get?" And I would reply that no one gave a shit about morals when they put their boots on my back and broke my spine so that they could climb a wall. People rarely care about morals when it comes to their gains.

There will be people that care, but they are few and far between.
And way too busy in this world.

So people are left behind—like those whom your parents warned you away from. They were scattered throughout the world, and they always had the same stench of oil from the capitalist machines they were spit out of.

Most will just walk by and scrub them from their memories. Nothing so filthy as someone 'down on their luck' should stain their conscience.

No, maybe they're a druggie. Maybe they deserve it. Maybe they got a B- on a quiz in kindergarten.

So many will make up any excuse they can to justify themselves even if it isn't true.

***
One of their names was Robert.

He got a degree and got into debt with it.
He got an apartment and a job but the prices were too high and he couldn't afford to move away his job overworked him so much that he couldn't get a side job to help. He was paid the dirt that he dug out of his future grave.

He was an honors student. He had friends that drifted away. He had a dog that died because the vet bills were too high to get surgery.

He did everything right and he failed and the biggest lie we tell ourselves is that it couldn't happen to us too.

This man had a niece named Emily and he loved her. He had a sister named Alia and he thought she was the smartest person on Earth. He had parents that he said made the best Thanksgiving dinner on the block. This man had coworkers friends family and he was beloved until he got forgotten. His sister was barely holding on, his parents had dementia, his niece was 3 years old, and his coworkers were.

His coworkers walked past him every day and when he finally mustered up the audacity to ask for spare change they gave him this look: a look that blatantly says 'I pity you, you deserved better, but I can't help you because I don't feel bad enough for my conscience to force me to help.'

***

I watched his frozen and malnourished body get dragged away this morning. He always helped people new to the streets, or even the city. He could give perfect directions and he could stand up for you if you got catcalled or grabbed or harassed.

Robert was kinder than whatever god has the misfortune of existing only to ignore the screaming prayers, pleas, and wishes of people that were 'down on their luck.'

This seems like a nightmare to me but so many call it a dream. An 'American' one that crawled into a corner and died 3 decades ago.

Sometimes I wonder if they live in a different reality and then I think that I'm not that far off.