He is trapped in the haze, compulsively answering to its whims and firmly establishing each day the nature of the grip. Innately aware of the damage it is doing, he continues, resiliently, creating justifications to remain in the hold so that he may forget everything, for a little while, for just a little bit longer. It is not an especially productive pursuit, but it is time consuming, usually to the detriment of his surroundings and the things that are important to him. If only, he dreams, he could finally run away from everything completely, and then there would be no need to block everything out. Little can he even comprehend the excuses that will begin to flourish should such a radical idea ever be enacted into reality. Little could he imagine just how badly he wants to forget everything, no matter far away he gets from it all. If he has truly forgotten one thing, it is that his problems are bigger than the mere fact that he is trying to escape from them.
No longer remembering the things that really matter seems to be the most prolific side effect, but sometimes he gains a slight nudge in the right direction, recalling what this is really all about. Such epiphanies are short lived and their mere mention out loud only further contributes to his long, steady decrease in credibility, as he is always the first person to forget them. The trust begins to evaporate, and as a result, so does enjoyment; the expectation of looming ostracisation becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, and then nothing begins to matter at all – other than the pressing need to forget about everything, straight away... if only for a little while, for just a little bit longer.
What about people with real problems – extreme poverty, lack of access to medical care? He knows that others in the world face these issues, and he can forget about that too, as he indulges and listens to songs that he has heard hundreds of times before, in their own way functioning as a comforting distraction from whatever it was that seemed to be ailing him in the first place. Soon, nothing else is left, as the time passes quicker and moments of fortune are mere blips, positive things that may or may not have happened. He feels there is nothing left to do but continue his vain effort to throw it all away, and so he will.
More and more, he realises how detached he has become, and continues to go purposelessly through the motions, lamenting on all of the possibilities of a content existence that he threw away with one reckless decision or a careless thought. He amuses himself, passing time considering at which exact moment he fucked everything up completely, examining the ever-growing list of recollections and ranking them by severity. As his memories return, he only feels angry; angrier than he has felt in years. He considers all of the suppressed emotions, a trait he picked up in his youth, and how anger seemed to be the only one which was capable of passing through his rigid filters, wreaking havoc without regard for potential consequences. Now the anger seems to be unreasonably intense, and he wonders what he was trying to achieve. In no substantial period of time, things are back to normal, and all of the lists torn up and thrown away; the thoughts pushed away such a distance that they might never return. The whole exercise has taught him a valuable lesson: he had royally screwed up his life eons ago and possessed no choice but to remain a deadbeat. And so he would be, and if he was lucky; if he tried hard enough, maybe he really could manage to forget about everything for a little while, and then, hopefully, forget about it forever.
