A Rough Guide to a Melancholy World

The Darkness 

It was cold and dark, and Harry huddled inside his small green tent, he wondered if he would make it through the night. He grabbed a thick jumper and shoved it on over his head and then put his woolly hat on. He lay down inside his sleeping bag and closed his eyes. His body began to warm up and he just wanted to sleep. The previous night he had only slept four hours and needed more but couldn’t drift off. 

He kept thinking about everything. Everything is a huge amount to think about, but that’s how it felt. His ex-girlfriend’s, his ex-colleagues, his family, and his current situation. Harry said to himself in frustration, “Why do I only remember the bad times? 

Why are they the stupid things I keep thinking about?”

Harry used to drink his way to sleep and for years, drinking was the answer to a lot of problems. However, it caused more problems. Every morning, he was waking up thinking, what did I do last night? What did I say? 

He would wake up anxious, waiting to see his girlfriend’s reaction when they saw each other before he said anything. He never knew if she was going to be mad at him. 

He would also listen to music or podcasts before falling asleep. They would take him away from his memories. They would help him relax. It was no way to live, and he read that it was a sure way to an early death. 

Whilst lying in his sleeping bag he would toss and turn, and he could hear the strange sounds from outside. He rarely stayed in the same place twice, so every night was a new symphony of strange sounds. 

Harry had warmed up nicely and felt quite cosy. It then began to rain. The gentle rain drops on the canvas sounded like an army of ants trying to smash their way through. By now it was 11.30 and off he went into dream land. Heaven. 

The first sleep was always deep, and he never knew what he was dreaming about. By 4am he had to go for a pee, and after a while he would have his second sleep. He loved this sleep. He couldn’t control the subject of his dreams but could make decisions which directed the dream. Sometimes they featured friends and sometimes celebrities. 

The second sleep would last until 8.30am. Every now and again, there would be a third sleep. This was incredibly rare, but these were like winning the lottery. Full dream control and they usually featured a night with a supermodel. Wake-up time, 10.30am. Absolutely bloody brilliant. Harry thought sleep was the new heroin. 

The next morning it was dull and dreary. The sun had forgotten to come out on this November morning. With nothing to rush for, Harry just relaxed and made a coffee on an open fire. He just needed a few twigs and there were some left-over logs from last night. He wasn’t that hungry so just ate some porridge. He eventually got up, had a wash and packed up his belongings into his backpack. This was his life. 

During the day he would either gather some berries or go into a town and pick up some provisions. Harry was homeless, but he was intentionally homeless. He packed up and escaped one day. He quit his old life, the life of endless bills and demanding work to live wherever he wanted, within reason. 

It always felt dark, but it was harder when it rained. The rain gave off a certain smell and was noisy. The worst thing about rain was that it muddied the forest floor. It was slippery and sloppy; it was cold and made Harry question his life decisions. Putting a tent up in the rain is not fun. Lighting a fire to cook dinner is near on impossible. 

This was Harry’s first winter in a tent. He had prepared for it and had bought the correct equipment. However, seeing it in a shop is vastly different to constructing it in a storm, nothing prepares you for your first time, it’s a nightmare, but also compulsory, like water to a fish. 

The darkness was what was killing his spirit, the darkness wouldn’t leave him. He should be missing his wife, he should be missing company, but he wasn’t. He missed his children, but all they ever did was argue and want this and want that. Harry missed putting them to bed and watching them play and laugh, but he had convinced himself that they were better off without him. He alone was ruining everything. He hated everything, everything made him want to scream, he just wanted silence. 

“Why do we do it?” Harry would ask himself. He felt trapped, like a crocodile in a tiny glass enclosure. He remembered seeing a crocodile when he was nine, it was cooped up in a small area with a tiny pool. It looked miserable, but don’t all crocodiles. Harry asked the zookeeper if the crocodile was okay, and the zookeeper said, “yes, the crocodile was very happy.” Harry just took his word for it; it was only later in life that he knew how the crocodile felt. Just saying something is fine doesn’t mean it is. “How would the zookeeper know?”

Harry wasn’t always such a miserable mess. There was a time when he was happy. It wasn’t a longtime, but it was the most enjoyable and memorable time. From the day he left school until realised that he was last in the queue for happiness was a great time. Being young comes with a sense of freedom and selfishness. You only have yourself to worry about, you want your friends to be happy but that was their responsibility, not yours. When you are married with children, everything is your responsibility. Harry found it overwhelming and stressful. 

So here he now was, in the darkness. He’d walked out on everything; he disappeared like a terrible magician’s act. Harry had left a note for his wife trying to explain why he had to leave, but it kept him awake at night, it just added to the darkness. 

Harry was wrong to think that running away from his problems would vaporise them, that they would disappear as soon as he left. That was stupid, they didn’t go anywhere. Instead, they manifested in his head, they wouldn’t leave him. Harry wanted to scream, he wanted it all to end. He knew what that meant. 

After a few weeks of internal screaming, he had to weigh up his options. Did he go home, apologise, and do his best for his family or end it all, to fall into the darkness like it was answer to his problems. The darkness was so strong, it was the easy option, he was practically living in hell anyway. “Would it make much of a difference?” Harry would ask himself. 

It was a long night, and he eventually rose at 7.30am. There was a strange noise outside of his tent, so he grabbed his knife and psyched himself up to defend himself. He slowly undid the zip and saw a deer and a fawn grazing on a nearby bush. Harry just froze. He wasn’t scared he was just watching in amazement how the deer mother was nurturing the fawn. He could see love. Not just the love between a parent and a child. He could actually see love. It was amazing, like a spiritual awakening and experience. Harry wasn’t a religious man, but this was incredible, it was pure, unadulterated love. He watched them for ages and loved every second. He knew he could live to be a thousand and never experience a moment like that ever again. It was bliss. 

After the deers had quietly left, Harry lay back down and cried. He cried like a baby, he was inconsolable. He cried until there were no tears left. He stood up, packed his belongings, and marched home with purpose. In his head he had a marching brass band playing and he felt like he was coming home after Victory in Europe. He was a hero, he was going to save the day, he was reborn, Harry was the goddamn man. He bossed it, every step until he got to the front door. 

What was he walking into? Would they be crying? Would they have fallen apart because Harry had disappeared? 

He put his key in the door and walked in. Silence. Nothing. 

He put his rucksack down, and thought “oh no, has my behaviour caused them too much pain they’ve had to stay with her mother?”

Then the downstairs toilet flushed and out came his wife, Kelly, in her dressing gown. 

Kelly said, “Hi Darling, how was your camping trip? Was it a bit cold?”

Harry couldn’t detect any sarcasm or fear in her voice. What was going on? he thought. 

“Morning, it was freezing, where are the children?” Replied a stunned Harry. 

“They’re still in bed, its Sunday morning, they can have a lie-in. Do you want a cuppa?” Responded Kelly. 

“Yes please”, said a confused Harry. He then saw the note he wrote; it was on the sideboard. 

“Hi Kelly, I’ve left work and I’m going camping, my brain feels like it’s going to explode. I love you, goodbye.”

Once he reread it, it sounded a lot less dramatic than he originally thought. 

He walked upstairs and ran himself a bath. He looked in the mirror and smiled. He wasn’t missed, no one was worried, they just got on with it. 

However, it didn’t matter. He realised what he had and how lucky he was. He made a plan to find a new job and discussed it later with Kelly, she was supportive. The children ran downstairs and jumped on him. He playfully threw them onto the sofa and then growled like a tiger. They all laughed and collapsed in a bundle together whilst Kelly watched and laughed from her armchair.

Kelly said, “Do you fancy roast chicken tonight love?”

Harry smiled at her, whilst being wrestled to the floor by two little gremlins. “That would be amazing. Thank you darling.”

The End.