At work you received feedback that your performance had slipped significantly and you had smiled in despair – “well, you don’t have a spot at home, you don’t know how that is, you can’t compare my hardship to your happy lives” you murmured on the way back to your desk.
Your sister now worried more than ever about you, said you were withdrawing and made no effort to be part of your circle of friends. She had arranged for therapy for you and that she thought it was more about your mind than about the spot in your living room. The therapist was clearly not your friend. He sounded as being briefed by your sister. If “better coping” with your spot and “spot management” could become your common agenda he would ask. Moron!
And then the day came – a cold November morning. Noon to be precise. Since you had no job anymore, there was no reason not to get drunk on a Friday night. at home. alone – dancing angrily around the spot in you living room – yaha, peeing on it at 4am! exhausted and helpless.
This Saturday afternoon you stumbled into the kitchen with a hangover. Your head not nearly fitting through the doorframe. Still, even then -the moment your mind started working, your eyes drifted over to the carpet in the living room for a moment. Then the sudden shock. What? Frozen in disbelief. your eyes moving slowly back to the carpet.
The spot was gone. Nonononono. nooo! nooo? that can’t be! Your feet were faster than your mind. Within an instant you found yourself on the floor in your living room. You did swoop onto the carpet like a sleuth. Trying to get hold of anything. All you could see was plain beige carpet everywhere. Well, you had to sneeze heavily at some point – it was dusty down there – since you could not afford the cleaning lady anymore.
Sitting on the floor of your living room like Luis Suarez after his biting in the match against Italy, you tried to understand.
Maybe you needed help.