Part 3
The Mysterious Man at the Shop Window
The racing heart, the cold sweats, the dry mouth, the shortness of breath, come and go more frequently.

For the first time in my thirty-five years of life, today, I did not go to work.
I couldn’t get out of bed. I feel weak, perhaps because I eat so little, I don’t want to see anyone, I want to be alone, lying on my bed, in a fetal position and with my head covered. With my eyes closed even while awake. The racing heart, the cold sweats, the dry mouth, the shortness of breath, come and go more frequently. I am reaching the limit of the bearable and feel that my mortal enemy is very close to catching me. I know now that there is no escape. The end is close! I stopped eating. I don’t clean myself any more. Likewise, I don’t go out on the street or answer my cell phone.
I haven’t spoken to anyone in over a month and I fill myself with sleeping pills to escape from reality, but even so, it does not disappear.
I could go to the police, but I don’t feel like doing it, I always liked to read a good book or watch a film, but I don’t feel like doing it. Maybe take a walk on the internet, but I don’t feel like doing it. But after all, what could I do to distract myself a little if nothing in this world makes sense?
What is the purpose of all this?
What is the purpose of life?
I know now what happened to me, I just lost the will to live! There is no purpose in my life, only pain and suffering. The feeling of fear, or I must say of dread or perhaps panic, does not leave me. I stopped working, nor did I justify myself before the company. For what? It will all be over soon. Things got worse and worse.
Whenever I go to the window, there he is, whether it’s sunny or raining.
His persistence is unimaginable. I now believe that perhaps it is some creature from the afterlife who came to get me for having finished my time here on earth and waiting patiently for the right moment. I will not fight any more. The destination has already been drawn.
I sit on the chair in my room in front of the mirror with my gun in my hand.
There he is, static, looking me in the eye. But this time it’s different, he doesn’t run and neither do I. This time I recognized him. It is not a lost soul. He is a man I know as myself, a man who has always been there, hidden inside me because I always decided to ignore him. I never wanted to hear what he had to say, I buried him as deeply as I could. It was the suicide man I was always, he was the real ME that the panic attacks freed and came to take its place.
Finally, he had won.
I take the gun, point it at my head and… Suddenly there is a knock at the door, I put the gun down, get up and go to open it. It was my ex-girlfriend who had been told by my co-workers that I needed help. And there she was. She hugged me and I cried, I cried a lot until I was exhausted. I had been saved at the last moment, and it was then that I realized that he had not won yet and that I would fight with all my strength until I managed to defeat him definitively. And I will fight!







