Me and my kids are going to roast and eat our seeds and then die. These thoughts now linger and cloud my mind, each word bitter and spiced with defeat when I dare to speak them aloud. I concede, I have slumped deeper into the abyss. I cannot take my eyes off the peeling wallpaper behind my door, each crack is a cruel reminder of the cracks in my spirit. I never asked for these responsibilities, I never asked for a child, worse three. I never wanted a wife, I don’t think I like paying bills every month either – these were never my desires. That flicker of hope, that always shone in a distant, showing me that there is light at the end of the tunnel, has died out too, leaving only fate and the cold, suffocating coat of hatred, envy, bitterness and despair to envelop me. Mom, I am in pain.

I tried. Lord knows, I tried. But the grind wore me down, day after day. The bills stacked higher, the demands grew louder, and the world seemed to spin faster, leaving me dizzy and disoriented, grasping for stability in a whirlwind of chaos. I wanted to be there for my kids, to tell them bedtime stories, hold them when they scraped their knees, be the rock they could depend on. Yet, as each day passed, I found myself slipping further away from them, consumed by the never-ending cycle of work, worry, and weariness. The love was there, buried beneath layers of exhaustion and frustration, but sometimes it felt like a distant memory, fading into the abyss of what could have been.

The harsh light stings my eyes as I remove my gaze from the peeling wallpaper. Shame burns hot in my throat, stealing my breath. I can’t breathe. Those weren’t the thoughts a man should have. Not about his own life, worse innocent kids. But the truth, raw and ugly, sits heavy in my chest. I still can’t breathe. The eviction notice, written on a torn brown paper, sitting on my table, mocks me. Two weeks. That’s all that stands between us and the cold, unforgiving streets. I have two weeks to prepare for my death… no, not death, not yet, but maybe oblivion. I can’t go back to my mothers, I left there alone, I can’t return with a foursome.

The weight of “what if” and “should” had become a suffocating grip on my mental wellbeing, dragging me down into a sea of regret. Perhaps I should have saved more. Should have gotten a better job. Maybe then this eviction notice wouldn’t be here. What if I had gone to study in the UK? What if I hadn’t married sooner? The list didn’t seem to end in my mind, each “should have” and “what if” is a jack hammer blow crudely chipping away at my already strained sanity.

Now it’s just me and the ghosts of dreams that turned to dust in this economy. The factory closed down months ago, another casualty in the race to the bottom. My savings, meager as they were, had dwindled to a whisper. The leaders have introduced a new currency, wiping away the value and purchasing power of all my savings. My kitchen cabinet held a handful of cornflakes, barely enough to cover the bottom of a bowl. I bet I can count these without spreading them over the counter tops. Now my mind struggles, do I eat them with cold water or warm water or do I just snack on them to savor every precious crumb? and then die.

The bottle on the table, half empty, continuously moving between my mouth and the table held a treacherous pull. The bottle is brown but the contents are even darker to my soul. Yes, it gives an escape that crave in this moment, an escape from the persistent pressure. It is a numbing agent to the sting of a wasted life. But the memory of a friend, Simbarashe visited the recesses of my mind. I wouldn’t become him. Not yet.

Shame burned hot on me, a man shouldn’t cry, shouldn’t feel this weak. But the dam had broken, and the tears flowed freely, washing away the dirt of forced stoicism. Sniffling harshly, I wiped my face with my shirt sleeve. This wasn’t weakness, it was the release of a pressure cooker about to explode. I wouldn’t succumb to bitterness, I am not surrendering to despair. Instead, I decide to remain resolute, I choose to be grateful for life. Grateful for the sunrise, a new day, a clean slate. Grateful for the worn jeans clinging to my legs. Grateful even for the pain, for it reminded me I was still alive, still fighting. This wasn’t over. With a new resolve, I grabbed my phone, through the cracked screen, I began scrolling through job listings. There had to be something out there, some way to turn this around. My family, their future, depended on it.

Then, a faint sound. A child’s laughter, coming in through the open window tugged at something deep within, I felt warmth, I wanted to smile in the desolate landscape of my despair. That is my baby, I made that. I will give them the life I didn’t have, the one that slipped through my fingers like grains of sand. But for a fleeting moment, the dream came alive again. Hope, fragile as a spider’s thread, began to spin in the corner of my mind. Not the audacious, unrealistic hope of a lottery win, but the quiet, tenacious hope that whispered, “You can overcome this.” It wouldn’t be a clean break, there would be stumbles and setbacks. But tonight, I wouldn’t be consumed by the darkness. Tonight, I would hold onto that fragile hope, a small tiny thread guiding me towards a better tomorrow. I have made my decision, I am living. I am not dying today!

The bottle remained in my grip, now barely reaching the mouth. The bottle, still a silent proof of a near miss. But tonight, I now craved something stronger. Not alcohol, not oblivion. Tonight, I craved the strength to rebuild, the will to fight. And for the first time in a long, long time, I believed that strength was within me. It wouldn’t be easy, but I wouldn’t give up. Not today. I am not dying today!

That faint laughter from outside had stopped, replaced by the gentle murmur of voices. That’s my family, a reminder of why I was fighting for more than just myself. Maybe not the life I envisioned, but a life nonetheless. A life where I wouldn’t crumble, but weather the storm, piece by broken piece. Again, I looked at the eviction notice. Two weeks wasn’t much, but it was enough to start fighting for a better future for my family. Tonight, the darkness wouldn’t win. Tonight, I would fight.