Dead End

Night and day blurred together into a single, endless mass of gray.

Without a beginning.

Without an end.

Without meaning.

Every morning I woke to the same emptiness, never knowing whether it was still the same day or whether another meaningless night had already slipped away—another night spent staring at a flickering screen, my eyes hypnotized by numbers to which I had surrendered my entire life.

Hostels.

Guesthouses.

Hotel rooms with the same gray walls.

The same lifeless televisions.

The same stale smell of cheap furniture.

That had become my world.

A world reduced to a glowing screen and the endless promise that this time...

this time it would finally happen.

I wandered through the streets like a ghost.

Lost inside my own mind.

Trapped in a labyrinth of thoughts that slithered around my consciousness like venomous snakes.

The city was alive.

Cars passed by.

People laughed.

Restaurants were filled with conversations, plans, and dreams for the future.

I was only a shadow moving among them.

Without purpose.

Without weight.

Without truly existing.

The sun rose every morning, yet its light meant nothing to me.

It did not warm me.

It did not signal a new beginning.

I was imprisoned inside the endless cycle of my illness—a relentless circle of losses and lies,

of desperate hope colliding with brutal reality. My phone vibrated in my pocket.

Every single time I reached for it, I did so with growing dread.

People wanted their money back.

Friends.

Acquaintances.

Even those who had stopped believing me long ago.

And yet I kept promising them the same thing.

"Soon."

"I'll pay you back soon."

But I had no plan.

No strategy.

Only the desperate need to place one more bet.

One final shot.

One miraculous win that would erase everything...

wipe the slate clean...

give me back my life...

my dignity.

I lied to myself as much as I lied to everyone else.

I convinced myself that I was still in control.

That all I needed was a little luck.

One match.

One winning combination.

One perfect ticket.

But somewhere deep inside, I already knew the truth.

I was lost.

My hands trembled as I placed bets with the last money I had left.

Whenever I lost, a bitter taste of failure rose into my throat.

Even then...

I couldn't stop.

Stopping was no longer an option.

I could only keep betting.

Again.

And again.

Without pause.

Without taking a breath.

Like a dog chasing its own tail until it finally collapses from exhaustion.

One day, a message arrived from my mother.

"When are you going to stop?"

"When is this finally going to end?"

"People keep coming to our house looking for you."

"You owe them money."

"How much longer is this going to go on?"

I read her message over and over again.

Each time, the words blurred before my eyes...

as though they had been written in blood. When is this going to end?

The question echoed through my mind like the fading report of a distant gunshot.

Deep down, I already knew the answer.

I was simply too afraid to admit it.

Because the only answer I could imagine was...

Never.

Not as long as I kept breathing.

My hands trembled as I held the phone.

I could almost feel the weight of every disappointed glance...

every broken promise...

every moment I had convinced someone that things were finally getting better.

And yet...

I did nothing.

I didn't stop.

I simply turned off the screen, slipped the phone back into my pocket, and continued walking without direction—as though that aimless walk was the only thing still holding the scattered pieces of me together.

Eventually, there was no one left to borrow from.

No one left to deceive.

The entire world had shrunk to the few coins rattling inside my wallet.

So I began walking toward the forest.

Toward Mníchova Lehota.

Did it make any sense?

Not at all.

But I kept walking.

First along the paved road.

Then onto dusty forest paths.

Until I disappeared beneath the trees, where there was no one left but me.

Every footstep echoed through the silence.

The rustling leaves beneath my feet sounded deafening.

No longer was I merely a shadow drifting through hotel rooms, glowing screens, and flashing betting odds.

For the first time...

I understood how weak I really was.

I had never been a player trying to beat the game.

I had only been another piece on the board...

in a game I had already lost long ago.

Addiction is not only about money.

It is not only about losing.

It is a cancer that slowly consumes you from the inside until nothing remains except the empty shell of a person who once believed they were in control of their own life.

You lie so that you can keep gambling.

And you gamble so that you can keep lying.

Until one day...

you find yourself standing alone in the middle of a silent forest...

and you realize that the only thing you have truly possessed all along...

was this endless emptiness.

– JK –