Monologue on a wooden bench

I once slept on a wooden bench in a city that later became my home town. Back then, it already must have felt like a place I could run to whenever I felt too lonely to be home somewhere. A place that would embrace me regardless.

But before my body wanders off like that, usually my mind does. Since it happens for as long as I can remember, I've tried my best to understand it. I've tested my logic, found some irrational thoughts I couldn't argue, loads of fear and a few rash decisions like quitting something I might have liked or running from anything but myself. To be honest, I think there's this one way road on which I seem to end up every time I go off course. It's a -heading towards the point of no return- kind of road, or for that matter, a -let's run off to a bench at night- one.

So what happened? How did I get there? I can hardly think about it without my chest starting to ache but I don't want to never think about it again either. Some things are too important to forget, especially things that should be prevented from happening a second time.

One night, as I remember from the pages of my journal, I wanted to escape the mess I found myself in, I longed to dream forever and I needed to replace my desire to die with something easier to withstand. A few other lines reveal that I presumed my family had abandoned me. It was a presumption that I, without a doubt, had exaggerated and exploited in various ways, but the ultimatum given to me when I stood there in my room, sure wasn't tactically presented. Besides, it had happened before so why wouldn't it happen again? In any case, I genuinely thought of myself being abandoned which instantly made me feel homeless. That's why I decided to pack my bag and get on the last train to the nearest big city where I'd been a hundred times before. And although I knew some people there, I definitely wouldn't knock on their doors at this hour. It's funny how worried I was about running into somebody while I headed for the station, was I able to stand my ground if someone tried to persuade me into going back? I wasn't even sure if I could persuade myself to keep walking. As soon as I was on board, returning home was no more an option and a weight lifted from my shoulders. I did it. "I feel stoned. I feel free." I wrote. "I feel hypnotized."

As soon as reality started to sink in, which happened rather quickly since I had a lot of time to think, I began to worry about things like finding a bathroom or charging my mobile phone. It disappointed me that I couldn't stick with the stoned feeling I'd felt a few minutes ago, when nothing mattered more than escaping something I hadn't even defined. Obviously I couldn't keep fooling myself forever, I was smart enough to know that escaping would never separate me from my fears. But ignoring this was the best solution at that moment, otherwise nothing I was doing would make any sense. I decided to be fearless, challenging my fate, I decided to be free going nowhere. "I feel detached", I wrote. "I feel rebellious."

While I wandered through familiar streets and passed familiar cafes, looking like a traveller with my rucksack hanging over my shoulder, I felt like Leiden wasn't the city as I'd seen it before. I lived in a whole different world now, where people didn't notice me. Not even when I entered a café to use the bathroom in hopes I wouldn't need one again until morning. Of course it was my perspective on the city that had changed, in fact, I was looking for a place to sleep now which I'd obviously never done before. I searched for a location away from people but yet not too isolated. Due to the lack of lamp posts at the public garden, I felt slightly unsafe for a moment and kept on walking until I hit a busy road. When I crossed it, I found a wooden bench on a stretch of grass, between the road and a row of imposing white houses. The bench was sheltered by a short wall of stone and surrounded by enormous chestnut trees, an oak tree and a plane tree, it was probably the safest location I could have picked out. When I sat down, it was exactly ten minutes past one in the morning. "I feel numb" I wrote. "I feel dead."

The night moved slowly. I laid on my back for a few hours, staring at the swaying tree tops and listening to the sound of cars passing by. Later I changed to my side but I tried to avoid repositioning myself too often because I didn't want to be noticed. Besides, it wouldn't get more comfortable anyway. It got quieter though, and I'd just fallen asleep, or rather, I'd partially lost my awareness when I heard a loud crash. I immediately snapped out my snooze and sat up, discovering that a scooter had crashed into a car or a car into a scooter, anyhow, there was chaos on the street. As I laid down again to hide, I heard police cars approaching and wondered if it was actually allowed to sleep on a bench in the middle of the night. I didn't know, I kept still and hoped their front lights wouldn't expose me when they slowly drove by. Apparently they didn't.

When you keep your eyes shut long enough, the world will fade eventually, if only for a little bit. That's why I didn't witness the whole scooter incident, but woke up when the police were already gone. Maybe I'd slept for half an hour when I got cold and had to get a blanket out of my bag. I'd used the bag as a pillow the whole time so I gave up some of its softness in exchange for body covering. I didn't succeed in catching my sleep again from then on. It had to do with some jackdaws starting their food search or having a fight in the trees above me, which caused oak nuts to fall down right next to my bench. I couldn't believe I might actually get hit by a nut while acting like a homeless person during early fall. I felt ridiculous, but it would even feel worse if I gave in. At six o' clock in the morning I got up and started to walk again. It was still very quiet, the streets were empty, curtains and metal bars were closed, the city had not yet woken up. Unfortunately I needed to use a bathroom somewhere, preferably within half an hour or so but there weren't any shops or diners opening any time soon. I had to turn to the university hospital where the night guard kindly let me in. Since I had a sink and mirror at my disposal, I also brushed my hair and splashed some water in my face. Just as they do in movies, tired and worn out.

I spent the morning in a park near a windmill, where I sat on the grass by the water and let the sun warm me up. I ate a few slices of bread that I bought in a local supermarket and I read a few pages of my book to kill time. It made me feel sleepy. I considered partying the following night and sleeping during the day, it seemed both safer and easier. As I ran through the details of it, I began to wonder how long I would manage keep up the show. It was clear that I couldn't take care of myself like this forever, I had twenty Euros in my pocket, even less on my bank account and I would soon start to smell badly. What was I thinking, what was I doing, what the hell was I hoping to achieve? When my cell phone started to ring I felt like being completely dragged into reality and I realized I was trapped again like I had been all along. Trapped by feelings of worthlessness and shame. That's probably the reason I decided to run away in the first place, there wasn't any confidence or self-respect that kept me safe and sane. "I can't laugh or cry," I wrote. "I hope I'm not lying in dog shit."

I went home soon after checking my clothes.

So I slept on a bench once although that's not what this story is about. It's about me desperately trying to get somewhere, anywhere other than where my pain is. About discovering that abandoning myself just can't be done, and that trying to makes the pain worse. I learned that when you let people define you, you'll end up being empty when there is no one to fill you up. In my case, I felt like dying. And not only I wish to change that, I need to. From this day forward. I want to survive rejection through a deep sense of belonging. I want to be enough. I want my life to be about every single cell of my body screaming that I can't do something and then doing it. Being tempted to go down the road of detachment and reconnecting. There will be cities embracing me and sometimes there will be none. Either way, I can always choose to stay.