My runaway from my runaway

Bonn proved to be a decent stay. I did not wish to go any further, so decided to stay in there, an hour and a half from my destination. Of course I did not sleep – not a drop of it. But I managed to offer my last shekels to a homeless teen and helped a drug addict get medical help. (Images taken from my facebook):

Dark, late, few teenagers, drinking underage, a tiny smile on my face as veneer – perhaps he took over two hours to pick me up. “Hi, I am at the station,” I said. “I will be there soon”. All would have thought the same: “Is he not going to pick me up”. I continued to play into the possibility by thinking up ways to camp out in the streets. “Damn, I do not think he is going to make it. I hope nothing bad has happened”.

Finally, he pulled up in front of me — teens still drinking. I climbed into his car and began to converse: “Sorry, I was late, I was in the middle of something”. “That is ok,” I said. And, indeed, even though the conversation was good, I realised how far his home from the station was: At least a thirty minute drive. So, technically, he did not keep me waiting that long.

I still could not sleep. Probably the second month of my breakdown and sleep alluded me. But, that night, tired as I was, took a sedative and managed to sneak a five hour sleep. The next two nights past with boredom. See; this was my workaway exchange. My room was in the loft, open and two Mexicans, a couple, shared the only room with door which was available. My bed could not be called a bed: Metal, with a thin layer of springs. But, still, the worse feeling was being available for everyone to see while sleeping; no privacy.

The third day, I became even more friendly with the household. I managed to meet the other workaway-er: A man in his early 50s. “Oh, I do freelance work and help out here and am usually in my room, watching documentaries”. “No wonder I have not seen you,” I said.

The Mexican guy informed me of a party. See, this place was an obscure village in the outskirts of town; a party ? It surprised me, for I only expected old people.

The first few minutes proved hard. I did not know of the people and felt a little out of place. However, twenty minutes into a conversation, opening up came naturally. We drank a few beers and exchanged laughs… I had taken sedatives that day…

The whole night went really well, until the drink hit me too hard. All I remember is debating a misogynistic word used by someone… Damn, it is all coming back to me. The Mexicans left before me; I wish I had followed. Never mind. I took a few mot shots, made myself look awkward and stumbled out of the party, towards a path to my bedrest – 200 metres at most. I only recall glimpses of the journey: Stumbling, stopping, taking my shoes off – How I managed to open the front door, I still do not know.

I blacked out – for the first time, it all went dark. I woke up through the night twice and vomitted everywhere.

Morning: “Get those sheets into the wash – and the top”. That is what I did… Slowly walking downstairs, looking around, I managed to locate the washing machine: “Here you are. Nobody will know of this”.This was a Monday and we were to start work the next day; I had not touched a thing, yet. That day past quickly, full of shame from the night before. Oh, I remember kissing an American girl at the party…Nevermind.

The workday comes; I am panicking. “I have not slept, eaten badly — hopefully, I do not collapse”. All the anxieties came at me again: “Shit, I cannot do this, I have not slept – damn”. I debated and debated for two hours; then, a final decision: Leave now. I dialled my cousin’s number – he lives in Darmstadt, an hour away – “Bro, I am coming to visit you”. “Sure, come over”. I took my stuff, stuffed it all into the bag and left.


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