Most mornings I would seek out the minor comforts of a lobby couch and I would lounge there; and as the crashing waves of gloom rolled deeply over me, I’d gaze out the window and watch the cars go by on the busy highway. People were contentedly on their way to work, oblivious to the agonizing despair and depression that were destroying people in the brown brick buildings that they were driving past.

The surrealistic detachment that I felt watching those morning commuters brought me to an even greater level of despair and hopelessness. I was so far removed from the hustle and bustle of that highway, and of a life that I once knew, that I might as well have been watching it all from the moon. 

It was all so foreign to me to even imagine a life where I could once again get in a car and drive to work.  I may have wanted that kind of a life back terribly, but I never envisioned ever having it again; not from the couch where I was laying.