The Man Who Lives Under the Bridge
By Jesse Donahue 2017 ©
There is a man who lives in a large drainage culvert that goes under a road near my home. He has been there for nearly a decade. You see him frequently, standing out on the sidewalk at the large drainage pipe going under and across the road, smoking a cigarette, appearing as if he is enjoying, most certainly barely enduring, the moment.
Well, he is just there, alone, and doing… nothing. How does one cope with this being your life, so horribly disassociated from humanity, indeed so blisteringly alone and disconnected? One must have some empathy for such a tragic character, no? My God, should he just pull himself up by his bootstraps? Perhaps we should pull his bootstraps up for him and force him to function in a more perceptually normative way.
I feel tragically alienated from others
I say to myself, “There, but for the grace of God go I,” and I often think as I pass by, I should give him some money, say hello, give him a blanket, or ask him if he needs anything. This is the behavior that a part of me would like to engage in for this man. Then I reflect upon my own life and think to myself, am I really so different from him? There, but for the grace of God go I? I have a home, but I can relate to this man. Well, here I am, married, have a child, have a family, and am intellectually bright (at times), but I feel tragically alienated from others.
I have an emotional paralysis around feelings (psychoneurosis) and human interactions. “Though I live a life that has a somewhat ‘normal’ appearance, my life is anything but normal. I know that my personal psychology is ‘different,’ but am I alone in this regard? Do others also feel they “live lives of quiet desperation,” as the writer Henry David Thoreau says in his book Walden? Perhaps, but I guess it is a matter of degrees and various flavors.
What do we honestly know about ‘that someone’ that we do not know but simply see out and about? Don’t we automatically assign traits to others we see by experiences we have had with people throughout our lives? Perhaps project some of our own stuff onto them unknowingly? What does the average person see in the man who lives under the bridge? Or the quiet one next door, for that matter. Is he just a bum who should get a job? Is he simply crazy for ‘choosing’ to live a life as he does? Is he or she a source of fear, so we call them a weirdo and thus dismiss the issue out of mind? Are we honestly too busy to take the time to see him and help? Might some of that busyness be running from things we do not understand, perhaps do not want to understand, and feel helpless to do anything about? Are we so busy that we can’t take a moment and stop to even think about it? And now that we are thinking about him, can we take that energy and turn it into something positive and helpful? Can we at least calmly admit that we don’t understand that person and admit to ourselves that person may need help, and most certainly not our condemnation? Isn’t it a start to just stop bullying directly or secretly under our breath? What, you are not bullying by calling him a weirdo and a loser?
Now, with all that said, I do not know what I can do for him. I am probably too much like him, being fearful of human interaction. Perhaps just leaving a gift on his doorstep, something to help him endure the empty hours of such insane loneliness and probable acute alienation. Dragging him from the safety of his routine life, perhaps, would hurt him more than it helps, yet I am thinking about him.
Photo by Noah Silliman on Unsplash
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** Copyright notice. All of my writings are copyrighted and registered with the Library of Congress.
My name is Jesse Donahue. In 2015, at the age of 58, I took up writing, and since then I’ve written two novels, poems, and essays about my journey struggling with CPTSD. The essays, 50+, were an adjunct to journaling in therapy to amplify my learning and self-understanding.
My writings, which include therapy notes, poems, novels, and essays, are all a part of my ongoing personal therapy. Many of my essays are in a stream-of-consciousness style, unleashing, sharing, and delving into energies that continuously process in my subconscious. My writings, initially, geared for me and my therapist’s eyes only, began with my exposing my thoughts, fears, and feelings (or the lack of) onto paper… a journal of therapy notes. Then, with fear overcome and via a personal decision of choice, I shared them here with the readers. My essays, most all, originate from my weekly therapy notes. My intent and desire is to encourage readers to recognize traits in themselves and find a therapist if they are willing and able to do so. If you are in therapy, ask your therapist to read them and discuss what pertains to you. For some, it can be a long and difficult process over extensive periods to awaken to the unconscious issues that have us acting out in life. Our behavior can seem like dancing to a buried, invisible energy that we are not able to directly see or confront. It is my sincere hope that my insights will assist the reader in the process toward reaching a deeper self-understanding. Bringing the unconscious out into the light of self-awareness, understanding, and acceptance fosters self-love and the process of change.
My published writings with the CPTSD foundation: *The Hidden Bugaboo. The Beganning. Twelve Days Without Coffee. Learned Helplessness. Cast Out of Eden by Toxic Shame. The Crumbs and The Banquet. What an Outside Appearance may Not Show. Obedience to the Light – Bombs or Love. Stepping Into the Shoes of Who You Are. Personal Honor, Integrity, Dignity, Honesty. Inspirational Tugging – Teachers. Codependency – Overriding the Monster of Self Hate. Surfing the Light Through the Darkness. We are but Storytellers. A Writer’s Brain – The Gift. The Highway of Worries. The Emptiness of Yesterday. The Man Who Lives Under the Bridge. Living in the Dis-World.
Thank you great article. When I live in California I came across a few men that choose to live a more isolated existence and interact as little as possible with the world outside of themselves.
I became aware of how much I had in common with them. My isolation was more psychological than physical as they had chosen but I saw our similarities.
Hi David, thanks for sharing your perspective. Your point is well taken. People live different lifestyles for various reasons. As a species, we are geared to live in community with others, in some kind or another. Belonging to a tribe or community is one of our most powerful needs. John Lennon famously said, “No man is an island… he’s a peninsula.” I surmise that this man I wrote about had extremely limited human contact. I can’t fathom how he kept it up, being so alone for all those years living under a bridge. I think of solitary confinement in prison.
I long for a cabin in the woods, to live in a retreat, a less hectic life moving back to the natural world. But I’m clear that even with a desire to remove myself from what our civilization has become, I know that I need others, human contact in a community. I don’t think the man under the bridge had that. I hope he did, and I hope his eventual disappearance means he received some help and found a better and more fulfilling life. However, there is the possibility it might not mean that.
Jesse