Three years ago, December 2012, I was homeless. I spent my nights sleeping at a cold weather shelter.
There were people who helped me, people who's names I have already forgotten, people who may have died by now and I will never know.

When I was.. homeless, I felt bad, all I could think about was having a place to live. But now that I look back on it, all the times I browsed CR and 4chan on my DSi, all the times I spent in the church talking with other people, helping out and sleeping in the cold.

I was.. content, a different contentedness than I feel now. Call it macabre if you want, but I was at peace knowing that I had every chance to die out there, every day. I was just one day away from being happy, be it from dying and finally finding peace, or finding work and being able to come home.

When I was finally able to come home, I remember it exactly, every little thing.


I had been sick for a long time, a constant fever with coughing and sneezing. I got a call from my stepfather, asking me how I was.
I told him I was fine, feigning wellness. "I'm close to a job, I know it"
I had given up already, I was set to take my own life by the end of February.
He heard me coughing and said he could come get me medicine.

He drove to where I was and bought me cough syrup and cough drops. And bought me some McDonalds I ate some if it there and saved the rest of it.
It was supposed to rain that day, so after he left I hurried to the library so I could sit there and wait for it to open.
As I sat there on the bench, eating the rest of food, I get another call from him, saying he and my mother thought it was time for me to come home.

I sat there on that bench, watching the rain fall.

I am a man of faith, and my personal belief is that each person has a heaven waiting for them, I hope.. That when I die, if for whatever reason I am still condemned to be alone.. God would have the mercy to let me sit on that bench while the rain falls.

Sorry for shitposting.