The Startup

First couple of pages of a story I'm writing about a mentally ill entrepreneur called Mike!

5:00 am felt like a lie in for Mike, the usual hour of countless emails and never-ending to do lists replaced with a full 60 minutes of utter bliss, taking him miles away from his dingy studio apartment in East London. As Mike wondered how on earth he missed his four back up alarms, one every 15 minutes from 

4:00 am, he cursed his old and weary phone, he got up beginning the tiring and repetitive unpleasant start to the day. Another day of seemingly fruitless work, drowned by the impending meeting that afternoon with his sole investor; a man without mercy for lack of progress. Mike's grandfather. A switch was flicked the moment Mike became intertwined with his grandfathers money so much so he regretted, sometimes to the point of tears, ever agreeing to take the money. As mike contemplated, as with every tortuous early morning for the last year, going back to the paradise of sleep, dreams where he had never convinced himself this was a good idea, dreams where he had just got a normal job just like every one else but Mike wasn't like everyone else. Mike had Anxiety, OCD, Depression... you name it, Mike has it. Mike felt like a textbook for mental health disorders. It was 12 minutes into Mike's 18 hour day and he'd already had his first negative rumination. "What an idea this was..." Mike sighed as he wearily stood up.

Mike like many young men in the modern age was part of a startup, in his case he was the Director. Not due to being handpicked by other budding entrepreneurs, completely down to Mike's constant struggle of being the only member. He daydreamed constantly of what may come in 5 years, 10 years. How he will tell his children of the hardship he experienced founding his empire. As prestigious as it sounds, the reality of having a company is one thing and as Mike found out very early into his journey, having customers was another. If he'd of taken the tiniest of glances into the industry before rejecting his prestigious university offers, Mike would have found the market for online advertising was swamped with hopefuls loomed over by vast corporations that seem endless in the custody of every available client. Not to mention the times he had heard "that's actually a thing" as he left another uninterested restaurant. Mike was advised early on that he should pick a niche and stick to it, for fear of being stretched to thin. Around the 6 month mark Mike decided better stretched thin from work than suffering the inevitable last day of the week with no food, again. 

Even though he had hopes of redemption by expanding his horizons , the ever hungry email box, never saw contact. On occasion, unsure of the potentially disastrous effect it could have on his conditions, Mike wished he might even get a potential client's negative response. "At least this would clarify that the email actually works", Mike groaned as he sat down for his breakfast; coffee and a cigarette. How Mike always found money to smoke was beyond him, he was smart, he did the math; nearly £2000 a year on a self-destructive habit. He told himself it prevents the disorders over coming his flimsy barriers, though he never even tried to stop. The cigarettes by now felt like old friends, of course he sacrificed his real friends by moving to London to be able to get to meetings. His real friends reassured him "yeah, of course Mike, we'll visit!". It was to his disdain to hear the excuses for the trip to never be made. 

Mike was forgotten. Alone in a city so built to crush, built for money, power and wealth; it had no care for Mike or his dreams. It was now 5:30 am, Mike's great accomplishments of the day were solely limited to the destruction of his lungs and the staining of another shirt. Mike remained faithful to his religion, not of Gods or books, but in progress leading to success, in patience. He opened his laptop to remember the countless letters and emails from his internet provider, informing him he would be stripped of access after the 10th month of not being able to offer them anything in compensation for unlimited use of the world wide web. He was surprised it took them this long. 

"The library it is." Mike huffed, for a normal person that wouldn't be that bad; unrestricted access to thousands of books on anything they could imagine, being able to dig through minds who have travelled Mike's path before. Mike wasn't a normal person, bursting at the seems with conditions, Mike resented public spaces and above all else; people. Another cigarette seemed the only reassurance as he nervously meandered through the streets. Sweaty palms and wet eyes were Mikes normal, so much so he wasn't phased.

Everyone Mike met had told the same repetitive advise, as if they'd had a group discussion to arrange a stealthy intervention, "you should go on medication.". Mike didn't like the idea of only functioning somewhat normally when drowned in who knows what. Doctors threw terms at him he couldn't even comprehend. Everyone knew someone who it had helped so obviously that meant it would work for Mike too. This is where he would have one of his limited joyful moments in telling them just how wrong they were. The thing is Mike isn't everyone else. Mike was struggling to stay afloat in a sea of illness, 4 or 5 he believed although he had forgotten by now. If a pill worked for one condition, whats to say it wouldn't harm another; there's a reason no one prescribes a universal medication to the mentally ill.

Mike arrived at the library only for the curtain to be pulled back and a voice to leap forward; "forget something..." the voice whispered playfully. An hour passed as Mike entered, now equipped with his library card.  "Damn it!" he thought, "Saturday." This meant students, this meant people. As with Mikes line of endeavour he never thought about what day it was. He would have if he had the meetings he so desired. He didn't, so he was left in a limbo of having no use or concern with societies restraints of times of day. He would go to the corner shop just next to his flat building to purchase much needed fuel, only to check his watch after finding it closed, to be shocked to see it was 3:00 am.

Now in the library Mike began his quick scan of the surroundings, attempting to find a corner out of sight. Not because he was up to anything, because Mike had already had enough interaction with people that day. ­­­An elevator ride with his neighbour, no words where said, the presence was enough to remind him he still resented society. 

With no customers came no work and with no work to be done, Mike found himself bored. Had he really put himself through the suffering of going outside and interacting with people just to sit in a library at 6:10 am and do nothing? No, he had to make a day of this; of learning, of progress... of something. Soon enough he found something to do; perfecting the text on his website... for what felt like the thousandth time that week. 

Noon came and went, it was 2:00 pm before he knew it and Mike had remained faithful to his progress, finding yet another free feature to put on his site to use in preparation for the first client he acquired, completely useless to Mike in his current state of endeavour. 3:00 pm approached as he left the library and headed to the taxi rank, another cigarette or two to be accurate soothed his nerves of the impending conversation with a stranger. 

Arriving at his grandfather's offices Mike felt the black cloud join the show, "really?.. now!?" Mike sulked, he dreaded the meeting with his grandfather. As someone who had never seen Mike's business plan he seemed to have an awful frustration as to why Mike had no clients. Mike would poor out excuse after excuse that would just sail over the head of his grandfather, he wanted results; however improbable.

Barely having survived the interrogation-esque meeting with his grandfather, Mike was relieved and shelled out some more of his ever-dwindling cash to get back to his flat. It felt like hours had gone by, as if days had been lost and he'd left what was left of his dignity in the cramped office. In reality it was an hour after he got there, Mike had to come to learn these were the worst parts of the day, where there wasn't a whole lot to do. Mike needed help, with finding clients however mostly with his conditions. It was such an uphill battle for Mike to find progress when he was stuck in a circle of his conditions preventing him from getting customers and his lack of money getting him the therapy he desired. 

Later that evening it dawned on Mike in a way it does for people with such disorders, complete and definite. Mike needed to start taking medication. Being unsure of how long it would be before he made any money, it would be best if he bit the bullet and asked for a prescription. For someone like Mike it was more like looking down the barrel of a tank rather than biting the bullet. The thoughts woke the dormant beasts Mike did his best to hide from the world and the docile black cloud became a thunderstorm of despair.