I never meant to end up like this: begging in the streets for my next hit, never feeling like myself unless I’m high. It wasn’t always like this. I loved movies, and poetry, and travel. Now, I can’t find it in myself to love anything at all. I don’t know how I ended up here. I don’t know how to get home. I’m a father. It’s a title reserved for men far stronger than me.

I don’t want to die. It’s likely I’ll do it anyway, soon, and no one will miss me. I’m not as ingenious as Anika, or as intelligent as Verena. I always wanted to be a father, but I never deserved a child. I’m tired. I’m embarrassed of losing job after job, and hiding in public bathrooms to shoot up before I go on my way. I should have told Ivo I loved him when I had the chance, but I never knew how. I don’t think he would have believed me, anyway. I hope he grows up and learns what it’s like to feel loved, because I sure as hell never taught him, and that was my only job. How do you make someone else feel loved if you’ve never felt it yourself?

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They say the sun will come out again tomorrow, but I’m afraid of the sun. I don’t trust myself when I’m sober, and I don’t trust myself when I’m high. I want to attend my son’s graduation, and celebrate at his wedding. Somehow, no matter how hard I try to get clean and be a good father, I always end up with track marks on my arms, falling asleep on the train. I was meant to teach my boy how to be a man, and how to treat the people he loves. I’ve never been in love. I always thought I deserved to be, and now I’m not so sure.