Nothing but winter

Winter is survival

My life was never supposed to turn into this, this mess. I've always felt the warmth of a fire, or the heat from a cup of cocoa.

Yet, I was siting next to an oak tree with nothing but my hot breath keeping me warm. I had nothing to warm me up, but a thin jacket, and a small sweater, underneath. With a pair of blue denim jeans. My shoes are suede, white boots. Along with a peach umbrella and a pink old bag, flung over my shoulder.

I stood by the tree and shivered once every minute that passed by when a flake of snow fell upon my head.

My vision was beginning to blur and my breathing was shaky, stuffing my hands into my pocket, I walk to the nearby cemetery.

The gates start to creak as I push them through to look into the cemetery, only to find it empty.

The snow is fresh and the air is just as cold, walking into the cemetery remind me of the tragic events that happened not even a month ago.

Depression, was my diagnosis. Yet, I didn't feel a bit of agreement towards their decision. They had no right to label me, to say I was sad. To state that I could possibly commit suicide if I didn't get treated.

Mental house, one week. They told me to go for one week, I escaped and never, turned back. Lunatics, bonkers, crazy. That's what I and the rest of the people who, like myself, where depressed labeled.

Consequences, frost bite. Here I was shivering in frost bite for my lack of cooperation.  For freedom, to never be constrained or judged.

A car passing by, had its radio cranked up, thankfully, the news channel was on.

'The forecast today, is to be about below 10 degrees, a chance of a slight blizzard. And not the good kind.' The anchorman joked, clearly humor was his intention. But, all I received from it was a warning. A threat.

Weather, was my primary enemy, in this situation. Stuck with no money, no friends—who actually cared about me—no shelter, and no warmth.

The air seemed to be sucking my oxygen out of my lungs, as every second passes by. My nose along with my hands and toes have lost their feeling a while ago.

I forced myself to walk out of the cemetery, to find a small café, that would provide me a bit of warmth.

The further I walked the more I noticed how lucky most of people my age are. They act as if the whole world hates them, that nothing is fair. They think there the only ones who know what it's like to have nothing, to not have family, or friends.

But that's all bullshit.

They don't fucking know, not even in the slightest bit. They still have money. They still have friends. They still have family, someone to turn to. They still have warmth.

I'm not saying that I've lived through hell. I would be lying if I did, my life was perfect, or so I thought.

Then, one winter. One winter, changed it all.

In the end, I ended up where I am now. On the streets, in the middle of a harsh winter, with nothing.

My breaths become shallower, my nose becomes more red than it already is, and I feel my toes practically come right off.