Dan Daiquiri

Following the death of my Dad, the first few months were hazy and I never quite realised how much I was slipping into a dark hole of despair. Running rampant and never giving myself a moment to breathe. Never taking in the morning air as the sun bounced off the pavement. The wonder of existence truly comes to the forefront only through moments of reflection, never once realised during these times. The true marvels lie in the small intricate details of life, before we are clouded by our own internal narratives and miss out on the whole show. Despite never really reflecting or unpacking anything, I was still alive and this in itself was astonishing. At a rate of self destruction which had only cascaded to even be living was something to feel gratitude for, finally I felt I’d been dropped a lifeline.

Fractured Mind

The sun was blaring through the living room window as I tried to piece together how I’d come to wake up on the floor, scattered memories drizzled in but were clouded by the fogginess over my consciousness. Head pounding, mouth dry and an overwhelming sense of dread- this was definitely the aftermath of a night in the student union. There was always something so animalistic about those crazy nights as we slammed back whole bottles of spirits for minimal pricing and chain smoked our way through packs of cigarettes. Feral beasts running riot around the five floors within the venue, guzzling everything in sight and playing our part in the mass machine of capitalist consumerism.

Glancing around, familiar sights filled my vision: an ashtray nearly overflowing, one cigarette half smoked leaning wistfully on the edge and a small selection of half drunk tins of beer some of which had ash around the brim. I could always judge how crazy a night had got by the mess scattered around whatever room I managed to crash out in, this one was a mild case and somewhat mostly contained.

The Envelope

A heavy thud came from the hallway and instantly my mood shifted rapidly from panicked confusion to an echoed fear. Awash with distress my headache compounded as anxiety weaved it’s way through my thoughts. I stood up quickly to investigate the noise. I attempted to keep balance but stumbled. I grasped the door frame as if my very life depended on it.

There was nothing in the hall apart from a large envelope on the floor under the letterbox. It lay there, so pristine and looked like it’d been placed there on purpose. It sat on top of the bristly welcome mat, glowing almost with my name on the front facing me. Picking it up, it felt crisp in my hand and bulged at the seams, with this I knew that it contained important information. Pondering for a moment, I took a deep breath to diminish the last minute anxiety before I delved in.

Thinking of what it could be, many things flashed in my brain: It could it be a court summons or some fucking HMRC letter saying I’m owe them tax, Regardless I didn’t care but still felt the fear within. Embracing this moment of fear, I ripped the envelope open leaving the top exposed. As I pulled the letter out of the white envelope I never knew what to expect but I had a feeling that it was going to be a defining moment. I never once considered that this letter and my actions afterwards would forever plague my conscience and I’d be haunted by the guilt of these actions or years to come.

My eyes scanned the document to decipher the strange looking layout and the jargon contained, vision still blurry and eyes dry. The letter itself looked official and the paper was very thick, is that embossed? As I glanced down, the numbers jumped out at me clear as day alongside my fathers full name. Sadness, regret and childhood memories flowed back in an instant. My attempts at fleeing emotions had been foiled in this flurry of seconds. It felt like hours. I’d tried to block it all out. I wanted to forget the freeze frame in my mind in which my dad took his last breath. Here it was again. I was feeling everything and nothing. I felt like a piece of shit incarnate. Yet, this was counterbalanced with a life changing figure of money on a cheque.

A Chance to Flee?

It felt like I’d won the lottery and that all of my problems would dissolve into the ether, leaving behind a finely carved human being with strong morals and ideals. This was my chance to change my life and escape the self imposed shackles I’d harshly placed myself in. Maybe if I use this money right, I can escape my past. All the years spent being at the very bottom of the societal hierarchy unravelled by an unfounded and crazy occurrence.

I was never good with finances, always treating it like Monopoly money: never real and never important. With my experiences in prior years with being mostly unemployed and homeless, my initial drive was always to spend to survive. Yet as my life began to change and I gained employment and pursued academia again, my monthly income shot up with which so did my spending. Not living in survival, living in indulgence and a self destructive loop of sabotage. My money was always spent before it hit my account, with this life changing amount of money I had a chance to start fresh from ground zero and build something up for myself.

-Fuck that, I thought

The Void

A few days later, I had a meeting with the bank to cash the cheque into a savings account. The meeting was single-handedly the most boring encounter I’d ever had, I was in and out of a daze. The combination of hangover, nicotine rush and a slight comedown had hit me hard as it often did during important meetings. Disassociate and overcome, my signature dish. In this case it was served cold and in a dull grey box room tucked in the back of a TSB branch.

ISA? I didn’t know what these letters meant but I still went along with everything the bank manager said. Nodding like the Churchill dog.

-OH, YES

Nodding and agreeing because I never wanted to let them know that I had no clue. No fucking scooby as to what they were talking about. Always scared to ask questions as to appear unknowledgeable, I’d often mask and act like I knew everything. My attention faltered for a moment, as I dreamt of the juicy pint I was going to throw down my gullet as soon as I exited this room which currently felt like some kind of vacuum in space- sucking all the life out of all who passed it’s boundaries.

Upon leaving the bank and walking down the busy street I glanced up to the sky imagining the possibilities, could this be it. An escape?