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The depression moved through him like tar. An oozy, black, sticky mess that made him feel completely immobile and unable to budge his fatigued body. It was on these kinds of mornings, when he woke up feeling the absolute dread of having to actually drag himself out of bed and go to his less-than-desirable job, that he just wanted to give up on everything.
Marc knew that if he didn't show up for his shift, he would definitely be fired after his supervisor had warned him for the third or possibly fifth time this month for coming in late or missing shifts entirely.
It was the same story over and over again lately. He would actually manage to get hired at some mediocre minimum-wage job, tried his best to maintain himself long enough to keep said job, but ultimately lost it thanks to his own shortcomings and mental health issues that he never had the courage to actually deal with.
This was his fourth new job in so many months, and while he knew he wasn't worth more than what little they paid him, rolling out of bed at six-thirty in the morning to ride the crummy bus across town just to spend the next eight hours organizing and packing up orders for shipment at some warehouse fulfillment center was just not enough to motivate him most days.
But this morning, like many before, he just couldn't get his body to move. The weight of his depression weighed down on him like a thick fog. It was like all the energy inside him was drained away through the night, despite having passed out fairly early the previous evening. He always either slept too little or too much, but always felt completely drained and unrested no matter how many hours he actually managed to get.
Even tossing the blanket off his body took more effort than he could muster. But halfway to rolling over to the edge of the lumpy old mattress, Marc's body instead curled in on itself.
It was unbearable sometimes—the fatigue, the pain, the weight of everything preying on his mind. But today, it was just the overall dread that was keeping him from rising out of bed to start his long, laborious day.
Tears started to form at the corners of his eyes as he fought with himself to just start his morning routine. But try as hard as he could, he just couldn't move his body. Instead, he lay in a fetal position, hugging his legs to his chest as tears started to flow down his cheeks.
Why was this so hard? All he had to do was get out of bed. And even something so simple as that was like a Herculean task.
But he really needed this job. The low wages were barely enough for him to afford rent on his small one-bedroom apartment in his Chicago home state, which he wasn't even able to run as far away from as he wanted to when he finally left his abusive home a few years prior.
Finally, with one last shuddering exhale, he managed to sit up in bed. Wiping his tear-stained face with the back of his sleeve, he lazily looked forward towards his next task across the room.
All he had to do was stand up, walk a few steps towards the bathroom, and wash up enough to be passable for the day. But his body still feeling heavy, he found himself just sitting on the edge of the bed in silence, staring forward with a blank, half-lidded stare.
He was not sure how long he had been sitting there, but when his pay-as-you-go cell phone rang and snapped him out of his previous trance, he already knew it had been for too long. He hesitantly picked up the phone and saw the call was from work. Sighing deeply, he flipped it open and answered.
"Hey... sorry... I—"
"Spector! This is the last straw. I don't even wanna hear whatever excuse you concocted this time. I'm sorry, man, but I gotta let you go. You can pick up your final paycheck next week," the angry voice of his supervisor echoed before the line went dead.
'Fuck...'
Marc flipped his phone closed and saw the digital clock on the front read seven-forty-five. It was no wonder the other man was so angry with him. Sighing, he tossed the phone aside on the bed, but it slipped and fell into the thin crevice against the wall. Marc flopped back down on the mattress in a huff.
Staring up at the water-stained ceiling above, his entire being felt consumed with failure. Rent was due in a few days and he was already late on the last payment. He didn't even want to think about his bare cupboards and empty fridge waiting for him in the kitchen.
What was he going to do now?
A sudden thought lingered in the back of his mind as he thought about reaching out to his father for some financial help. But he was not sure if he was that desperate yet.
While his dad was never the one to lay his hands on him, he also wasn't the one to stop his mother from doing so in the past. He was a weak man that allowed his years of trauma to build as he willingly and reluctantly let his suffering wife beat their only surviving child mercilessly for years on end. Turning a blind eye to his wife's deteriorating mental health and alcohol abuse made him just as compliant in the abuse as his mom was in Marc's mind. And yet, he knew that he was just as hurt from losing Randal all those years ago, too. The man barely ever stayed at home, instead electing to spend the majority of his time at their local synagogue in prayer.
Marc leaned over the edge of the bed and picked up his jeans he had tossed to the floor the previous night and reached into the back pocket to pull out his worn-out wallet. He opened the flaps, looked inside, and let out a disappointed sigh. It was barely enough to make it to the end of the week at this rate.
The corners of his eyes started to burn as tears returned quickly and fell down his cheeks. He really was a failure, wasn't he? He couldn't take care of his brother all those years ago, and he couldn't even take care of himself now. What was he going to do? How come he couldn't manage to keep a simple piece-of-shit job long enough to pay the bills? Why did he fail at everything he ever tried?
The swirl of dark thoughts turned into a storm in his mind. The tears fell freely now as his breathing became more erratic and his vision started to blur. He pulled his knees up to his chest and started to rock himself back and forth in an unconscious self-soothing motion. His heart pounding through his chest was the only sound he could hear, despite his desperate cries escaping his mouth, as he found himself in a full-blown anxiety attack.
Continuing to rock himself back and forth, his hearing became muffled and his vision foggy. His eyes fluttered open and shut, and then the world went dark.
A moment later, Steven opened his eyes. He must have been having a nightmare because his eyes were watery and his chest felt tight from breathing so hard that it had made him wake up in quite the panic.
Steven climbed out of bed and headed towards the bathroom sink. Rinsing his face, brushing his teeth, and fixing the part in his wavy dark hair to the side, he smiled into the mirror.
'Not too shabby, I suppose,' he thought to himself and made his way to the kitchen.
Opening the fridge and then the cabinets, he was met with disappointment at the bare shelves. Didn't he just go grocery shopping the other day?
Wandering back into the bedroom, he quickly changed into fresh clothes for the day and scrounged up his wallet. Looking inside, he was met with another tinge of disappointment. This was barely enough for rent, let alone groceries. And he knew he still had to find a new job since he was surprisingly let go from his call-center job the other day—to which he still didn't understand why.
Well, just until he could get himself back on his feet, maybe he could get some temporary financial support from his mum in the meantime. Unable to find his phone anywhere in the room, he instead decided to drop by for a visit. It had been a while since he had been back home, hadn't it? He was sure his parents would love the surprise visit.
Grabbing his coat and locking the door behind him, Steven made his way to the nearby bus stop to head back to his family home up north.
After the forty-or-so minute journey by bus, Steven thanked the driver and hopped off the vehicle as he started his way down the familiar Chicago street of his childhood. But as he got closer and closer, something in the back of his mind made him feel like he should turn back. Ignoring the intrusive thought, he walked up the brick steps towards the front door.
'She's going to be so surprised!' he thought cheerily to himself as he raised his hand to ring the doorbell and pushed.
Inside, he could hear someone making their way to the door, and he had a mix of excitement and strange nausea turning in his stomach. The door swung open and there stood his mother with a wild look in her eyes.
"Hiya, Mum! I'm sorry, it's been quite a while, hasn't it?" Steven waved with a wide smile.
"What in the hell are you doing back here? Wasn't I finally rid of you?!" his mother, Wendy, belligerently yelled into his face as her years of resentment built quickly into a fiery rage.
"Wha—" But before Steven could finish his confused thought, Marc leaped forward in their mind, gently pushing him back into the darkness.
Except before he could gain a sense of where they were or what they were doing moments prior, he was suddenly pushed back with a small shove on his chest and he stumbled backwards. He just barely caught himself as he landed harshly on the brick steps underneath him, gripping the stair's metal handrail tightly to keep himself from falling further. He looked up and saw his mother, red in the face, yelling at him from the open door.
A sudden and intense panic flooded his entire nervous system as he struggled to stand back up on his feet and turned to flee in a frightened state. The fear that enveloped him was almost unbearable as he ran down the road, and it wasn't until he turned the corner a couple blocks away that he could finally catch his breath.
"What in the fucking hell was that!? Why did you bring us back there!?" Marc shouted out loud to no one.
Tears threatened to spill once again as he tried his best to calm himself. Wrapping his arms around his chest in an effort to hold himself steady, he gasped a bit as he tried to slow down his heaving breath. Trying to ground himself, he looked around the street he had blindly run down and realized he was at the local strip mall.
Still holding himself tightly, Marc walked closer towards the row of mostly defunct stores in a small effort to keep putting distance between the horror he had just left behind.
Up ahead, he saw a few locals ambling about in and out of the shops whilst chatting amongst themselves. Towards the end of the shopping strip stood a militant-looking man next to a large American flag. He was handing out pamphlets to young passersby.
As Marc got closer, the man took notice and turned towards him with an inviting smile.
"Hello there, son. You look like a strong man in his prime. Would you be interested in joining us to help serve and protect your fellow American and uphold our freedoms?"
Marc tentatively reached his hand out and took the pamphlet, flipping it over and reading the bold letters: "Greater Illinois Military Recruitment Center."
As his previous panic started to wane, he opened up the brochure and glimpsed through each section. It talked of financial support, opportunities to travel to far-off countries, and a sense of family and pride. Maybe this was what he needed? A structured environment to help keep him in control while also taking away his financial woes, all the while keeping him as far away from his family as possible.
Weighing the benefits against his current dismal situation, Marc then looked up towards the uniformed man and simply asked, "Where do I sign up?"
End