I head downstairs, the overwhelming scent of mold permeates throughout the room. Garbage and wet clothes are scattered everywhere and makeshift hammocks adorn the ceiling. A dirty rabbit hutch reeks of urine and feces, and the rotting smell of dead mice or some other mysterious animal buried beneath the filthy ruble burns my nose. As the intense aroma penetrates my eyes, they begin to water incessantly, I don’t think I can handle this. With a trash bag in one hand and plugging my nose with the other, I proceed down into the dingy basement. I begin wading through the plethora of items in my path, deciding what to keep and what to throw out, I’m disgusted at what I see, my mother would have never let it get like this. I stand, staring at a massive pile of clothes laying on the damp floor by the washing machine. It feels like just yesterday my mother died and suddenly life went from living in splendor to living in squalor. For me, living in “splendor” didn’t mean living in some extrav
I can’t seem to take my eyes off of the old wooden staircase in front of me. I scan across it, examining every inch. From afar the solid wood appears to be flawless but the closer you get the more imperfections you can see. Small nicks and tiny pieces of splintered wood peak out of the boards. As I focus on the rickety old railing and the creaky stairs, my mind starts to disconnect from my body, drifting off into a fantasy land. I can feel myself slipping in and out of consciousness, bouncing between fantasy and reality. Every time I feel my nose burn from the stench of alcohol and cigarettes that billow out of his mouth, or the feeling of his sweat dripping down my cheeks, or the weight of his body pressing against me, my mind withdraws from the convalescent fantasy, reentering the crippling reality that I am faced with. I desperately try and retreat from the disabling position that my mind is now stuck in. Paralyzed by the overwhelming agony I am experiencing, I close my eyes and wa