Struggle
The fight against his ongoing self-destruction by his chosen means continued into his fifth decade. From a very early age he knew things were not right, that there was something defective in his personality. Recently certain life events have tipped things over the edge somewhat and make it imperative that action was taken before it was too late. One only had to take a close look at his actions and mannerisms to realise there was something quite wrong.
Simply seen as a maverick character before his behaviour was cause for more serious concern. He trusted the maniac was more fun to be with than not but it really must have driven his loved ones nuts sometimes. It could be so extreme that it clouded reality and lead to situations that surely must jeopardise everything. He could blame his despicable life, there were indeed horrific childhood events, but he didn’t. It was his personality defect, which he suspected was congenital and unless he assumed complete responsibility for it it would surely win and lead to his demise.
Some years ago he had seen a psychiatrist on Ave Louise whilst in Brussels, boy did he stir up some hornets. He had attended about half a dozen consultations and Dr van Acker had quickly diagnosed that his ‘roots were rotten’; the doc blamed his Mother for everything. Whilst she was quite evil to him, he preferred not to think that she had left her mark on his life and that he couldn’t consequently prevail over himself. His Dad had died when he was young, he thought it had not affected him as much as people believed probable from the horrific nature of the events surrounding it. In many ways it had a positive effect removing the main source of conflict with his Mother, the breakdown of his parents marriage had been very acrimonious. However, it had made him focus on his education, which progressed far enough over a sufficiently long period that any personality could not ruin that too, until now perhaps.
He lived in his own little private world imagining his Dad looking over his shoulder and being proud of his achievements. He didn’t know what this meant, maybe it was just his way of dealing with his huge insecurity. Maybe that insecurity was covered by his extremes of behaviour. Today, he felt ill, disgusted and ashamed for allowing himself to get where he was. For allowing himself, through lack of self-control, to hurt so much the small number of people who adored him. That number had dwindled over the last few years probably, although he hadn’t noticed, because of the way he was. He was charming yet introvert keeping himself to himself but those who knew him sought out the maniac in a quest for the bizarre. He felt this his last chance and after trying on a few occasions recently this must be it, else he thought his life might spiral out of control and it wouldn’t be too pretty. He had neglected so many important things, unable to cope with the simplest of tasks that are fundamental to existence.
He had been reading the initial chapters of a Big Book on his daily travel to work and wondered if he was alone in the struggle afterall. He had spoken to many people over the last few months and noticed very many similarities (but findamental differences) with their lives. He was consequently excited at the prospect of emulating their successes and overcoming this beast.
Just Like You (Rollins)
I am the man from a human choke hold
I am the product of your restraint
I watched the years pass by me
Never once did I complain
Never once did I say no
Now I watch myself explode
My body is scarred by age
Now you get to taste my rage
From the wreckage of humiliation
I got my self respect
I pulled myself together
What the hell did you expect
You should see the pain I go through
When I see myself I see you
Everything that you did I do
When I see myself I see you
RageI
'm just like you
My flesh isn't my flesh
My blood isn't my blood
An incident happened upon exiting Embankment Station. he was late for work and had spent the journey into work thinking about how he could affect a change in his life. Quite jittery after a drunken argument the previous evening, the sum of the parts being greater than each problem. His reaction to the incident was typical and something he knew he must address in recovery. Departing the station a middle aged slight lady stood in his path, she seemed quite nervous and unsure of how to resolve the situation. He moved to one side and she did the same, the process was repeated and she was glared at. He moved markedly to the side and with a wide berth moved forward. She walked in the same direction as him and veered back close to his new path, he walked even wider to avoid a collision. Once a collision was averted he felt it necessary to produce a loud, and audible quite some distance, ‘For God’s sake’. This was going to be hard but clearly necessary work.
He had for some weeks thought about getting away for a week to attend to some important mind and other issues.. The request for a week off was OK’d at work and in June that year he planned to fly off to Sarasota Florida. He knew this place from a research conference he’d attended quite some time earlier, it would be perfect to assist (he thought) in convalescence.
Reading at lunch in Temple Gardens he sought further guidance. By now all his thoughts had calmed him and his blood alcohol level was more acceptable too. There were 4 shaded seats taken by down and outs, he couldn’t help thinking that could be him if things weren’t sorted. It also reminded of an incident one lunchtime, en route to the Edgar Wallace. There’s a sheltered area leading up to Essex St where tramps keep dry and seemingly sleep overnight. One blurted out in Tourettes style, ‘you’ll be here in 6 months, I’ll still be here’. At the time it didn’t make him think for long unfortunately, but it had revisited often since.
Non-gregarious office workers took the remaining seats in the first area of Temple Garden, he wandered on a little further and found an unoccupied bench. Reading a story he saw many similarities. His irritability with the varying luminance (due to the sun/clouds), and the accompanying changes in temperature were clearly on display, He didn’t like himself al all today. Two colleagues passed and made a joke of being in the gardens, one offered some coppers, his book was closed with a finger retaining the place. One asked him what he was reading; he said he couldn’t say, some curious looks but it was left at that. Bill gave him hope.
He had been putting off moving funds around and could not pay for next months holiday, it was due and due to the late decision the money was not in an accessible place for the purpose of paying it. He confessed his uselessness and asked his partner if they would pay it on their card and he would give them a cheque later. Uselessness breeds low self-esteem breeds more uselessness. Another simple task beyond him in this state it seemed.
The afternoon was taken up with meetings, but his attention span was low. It would be a fine line between getting home and going to an evening meeting, He wasn't feeling in top health and his calves were stiff, early claudication he thought. There was a hold-up on the tube and he got home at 7.10 and the meeting was at 7.30, he excused himself saying he was unwell and decided to relax and think instead.
The following morning he wandered into work for 9.30, legs still stiff walking down the stairs that morning. He had a quiet morning preparing for a lengthy meeting called by US colleagues from 2-6pm. In between he amused himself with the second day of the test match on bbc.co.uk. A colleague from the US passed by his desk, he couldn't help conjuring up images of the Dukes of Hazard and how she fared vs Daisy. He charmed a while, or so he thought but she probably thought he was drunk from the previous night or just a nutter. A male colleague overheard and joined in the frivolity. He wondered what people really made of that bizarre shit that flowed so easily.
A meeting up near Leicester square had to be missed as he had a working lunch 12.00 to 12.30 and it hadn't begun at 12.40, so the logistics just wouldn't work. The afternoon meeting was a long drag from which he escaped periodically saying ‘just got to nip out and do something’. He was amused with the naughtiness and it became a game to find things to do so as not to return straight away. Around the office until 6 he left for what he only found out at lunchtime was a Bank holiday weekend. He wondered if that was normal not knowing it was a bank holiday and again amused himself with thought around why he had not known. Some days he simply had not known what day it was and had to ask passers by. His pride might have been hurt by those episodes but the strangeness of it amused his sedated mind. He recalled it was to be the monthly Gout club (wine and cheese) after the weekend on the Tuesday and resolved to remember. He had bought some cheeses on a recent trip to Basel and wondered what colour they may be in the spare fridge in the utility having spent two days in Switzerland in a warm hotel room. What colour might they be if his resolution was not kept and they stayed there another month until the next club.
Returning home he felt drained living in his own little cocooned world where bizarre was the norm. He listened to the Smashing Pumpkins thinking ‘were these guys in a similar world due to the effects of more, or maybe less, nefarious substances?’
"Tell me, tell me what you're after, I just wanna get their faster."
He was quite unwell that evening, after trimming the soggy lawn he developed a pain in the left shoulder and by 10pm it had grown unbearable. After lying for 30 mins or so the pain had spread to his left side and he became breathless and consequently worried. It intrigued him that stimuli to the mind could self-perpetuate themselves so easily, like this and like the self-doubt following a bust-up with his lover. He rose as this seemed to ease the symptoms and within half an hour the pain in the shoulder had completely gone and that down his side was only apparent upon deep breaths. He thought whatever comes as long as it didn't hurt, like that had hurt in bed, he would be alright. About 4am he returned to bed and, after a little discomfort in settling, slept heavily for 4 hours.
"I keep this diary to tell the wonderful stories in my life". Modified from Oscar Wilde, unfortunately they may seem wonderful on the main stage but behind the scenes they are torturous.
He dozed until 1.30 pm listening to the 'rain stopped play' test match banter which woke him as an Agnew recorded message playing over and over. He felt a little better his shoulder had ceased to crease and the pains down his side were dulled, as was the day. It lashed all afternoon, in Edgbaston at the Cricket too. It seemed like the pains had calmed but the nightime was to be a storm indeed. After an early night he again awoke in the early hours around 1.30 am. This had become part of his life but not usually triggered in such a devastating fashion. It was now Sunday and since 5am he had slept on the couch, supine in both character and posture. He felt at the will of whatever befell him, afterall it was ‘his responsibility’ and ‘could it be any worse than that he had endured over the preceding months if not years’. He spent from 10am until 3pm at the hospital amusing himself with his ‘uncanny’ ability to detect the slightest of arrythmias by listening to his body. A lovely Indian Doctor called Dave looked after him and after a while assured him it was not his heart. He asked for reassurance re his brain and Dave said it's very important to look after that, he was sure Dave knew that he knew too. He was not sure Dave knew if he knew how to.
It was a better day weather wise, the garden looked lovely and the Cricket victorious. His lovers car was being attended to whilst he was. Pains had waned and general lethargy had too. She was drinking wine and he wondered if he should have a glass, Bills story was fresh in his mind however. An early night, he took the plethora of smarties and went off very quickly. As usual the TV was on and as usual it wasn't when he woke, just the purring channel, he smiled and briefly felt lucky.
It was light and he had slept through, it was 7.30am. Monday 29th May, no pains and calm. He had been here so many times before that he couldn't relax and consider this anything but the restart of a huge struggle. He only hoped it would last longer than his previous futile attempts. The rebuilding of everything begins, it didn’t seem such a task today, even yesterday it appeared insurmountable. He had dozed on until noon, it was a start. Many years had he trod this path and it wasn’t going to be easy to get forgiveness from everyone but as long as he made amends in some way. One day at a time.
Hounds freeze in silence bewitched by the reptile spell
Sulphurous essence pervades round the grassy dell
Heorot awaits him like lamb to the butchers knife
Stellular heavens ignore even childrens cries
Screams are his music, lightning his guide
Raping the darkness, d-d-death by his side
Chants rise in terror, free round the oaken beams
Flickering firelight portraying the grisly scene
Warriors advance, prepare for the nightmare foe
Futile their sacrifice as even their hearts must know
Heroes delusion, with feet in the grave
Lurker at the threshold, he cares not for the brave, he cares not for the brave
A gentle afternoon gardening left him breathless, as did the special evening closeness. How can anyone with so much allow matters to get so out of control and jeopardise all? Some people have so much love they can forgive almost anything and some are lucky to be forgiven by the special ones.
Tuesday: He woke early but lay in bed awake until late for work wanting to hang onto the loveliness of yesterday. Gout Club, splendid curds and much fine juice delivered from the left hand side, in the afternoon. He enjoyed it a little more than safe, slept on the tube and was met with loving smile on returning home. He felt lucky to have been blessed with beautiful love from two special women, with his current and ultimate love for 6 years since the break up of his marriage. His eventual perceived unhappiness was probably a reflection of his condition more than anything else. Nevertheless he had found something very special and subsequently retained the previous happy memories. For both to put up with him, for so long, he must have done something right at sometime.
The evening was wild and exciting and reminiscent of what was once commonplace. Such recent experiences had dragged him back from the edge, restored some residue of self-esteem and given him a chink. This night was indeed soul restoring. He had a great-untold love story, she was his life and he was clinging on desperately. The awakening and lateness of the previous morning was repeated over the next few days. Relative sobriety and closeness were working wonders on his resolve to tackle the beast head on.
‘Warriors advance, prepare for the nightmare foe’, or is it heroes delusion?
He recalled the numbness the following morning during the early extraordinary years and here it was once more, he had never experienced that with anyone else. The evening was again a repeat and the following morning too. The strength afforded by recent events would be invaluable in the weeks ahead, or was he fooling himself with such hope?
Thursday 1st June: He floated to the tube station at a fashionably late time, just missed the Met and got on the Piccadilly. The fatigue was much less noticeable and his mind had become active again, he felt that a good thing as long as he could control it. He read some philosophical shite and listened to songs with stories. There was a problem at Holborn, a security alert that didn’t make any news, he needed to get off at Covent Garden. The queues for the lifts were 10 deep and he decided to take the stairs. A spiral staircase, which seemed to go on forever. Since the new year he had been walking much around west London sometimes doing 30 miles a week to and from work and during lunch times. The spiral staircase nevertheless won and by the top his lungs were on fire. The subsequent 10 min walk to work simply extended the pain period and it took him the rest of the morning to recover. Consulting a medical friend he was advised he shouldn’t be engaging in such activities with pleurisy, the lung could become attached to the rib cage and result in collapse. It didn’t sound a desirable state.
Early departure from work and a quiet mindless evening and early retirement, the latter saving him from the rest of the shiraz. An early start for work the following morn and excited at the prospect of showing off his Darling who was meeting him after work. The beast had however tried to contact disguised as one of the denizens of like beasts that inhabit the stagnant mire.… as Grendel stalks the night
Earth rim walker seeks his meals
Prepare the funeral pyresT
he shapers songs no longer head the fear
Within their eyes, within their eyes, arise, derise, demise.
The rhythm of its cruelty had infact been broken; the night was not his playground anymore. He entered work excited about the day ahead. Quotes throughout from ‘Grendel’: http://www.lyricsfreak.com/m/marillion/grendel_20088812.html
Friday was a lovely day for him, looking forward to the evening. She arrived late around 5.15 after shopping in the afternoon down Oxford St. They met at Enbankment station and had a couple of wines in Gordons. They arrived home about 8.30 and danced the evening away. They were happy songs and she was quite the most beautiful girl he could imagine and he wondered ‘why me?’
Tonight I'm gonna have myself a real good time I feel alive
And the world I'll turn it inside out yeah
I'm floating around in ecstasy
So don't stop me now
Don't stop me 'cause I'm having a good time
Having a good time
I'm a shooting star leaping through the sky
Like a tiger defying the laws of gravity
I'm a racing car passing by like Lady Godiva
I'm gonna go go go there's no stopping me
I'm burning through the sky yeah
Two hundred degrees that's why they call me Mr. Fahrenheith
I'm travelling at the speed of light
I wanna make a supersonic woman of you
Don't stop me now I'm having such a good time
I'm having a ball
Don't stop me nowIf you wanna have a good time
Just give me a call
Don't stop me now'cause I'm having a good time
Don't stop me now Yes I'm having a good time
I don't wanna stop at all
I'm a rocket ship on my way to Mars
On a collision course
I am a satellite I'm out of control
I'm a sex machine ready to reload
Like an atom bomb about to oh oh oh oh oh explode
I'm burning through the sky yeah
Two hundred degrees that's why they call me Mr. Fahrenheith
I'm travelling at the speed of lightI wanna make a supersonic woman of you
She passed out quickly and life was fine, she was fantastic and he sober. Life was great again but all the time there was worry at the back of his mind: It was a lovely morning, sun shining inside and out. He woke early as usual, quickly realised it was the weekend and had nothing important to do until lunch time. They spent the day looking around property in Aylesbury, it was exciting planning for a future, one that seemed real today. Their move away from London was a step closer, although quite a few strides away, and one huge leap. When people get close they seem to get scared, why after such great moments in some lives do they all of a sudden, no warning, get spooked by the prospect of happiness or by underlying mistrusts? Of course when there has been such turmoil, as there had it’s difficult to trust again or perhaps to open oneself up to a repeat of the pain.
The cruelty of some is unbelievable, it had damn near killed them, sad pathetic creatures rummaging for snippets of comfort and living on the scraps of humanity they receive. He knew he had to overcome this anger as part of overcoming himself, but it wasn’t going to be easy.
Ugly, You and me
You see, you see, you see the real me
Oh So obscene
Flapping wildly
You see what I mean
Oh Keep away
Can’t see why you do what you do
And you say what you say
(Rollins)
Something had been said on Saturday evening and old wounds had been reopened by a small thing grown by an insanely jealous mind, the poison sent was still doing it’s work. He found solace in the Pimms and wondered if the uncertainty was ever going to end. This day he realised that unless a safer means was found of help and comfort he would surely lose.
He had Friday received an e-mail from an ‘Anne Philips’ who he didn’t know, Anne made out that they had been in touch and she were coming over from the US and would meet up if he wasn’t ‘fixed up’. There were obvious pointers, which gave it away, were they not happy with the torture they had inflicted already? His rage grew all day, and he kept it all in, safe and sound.
His mind was elsewhere in the evening, analysing the effect that the uncertainty was imposing on itself. He played happy songs which had reduced effect today.
Monday 5th June: Early start and resolved to conquer all. It was a peaceful day, measured by his calm as indicated in his unusual lack of perception of probable office hilarity at his weekend sun baked, un-pigmented epidermis. Work was productive and he enjoyed a little research interest that was used to fill in the gaps between the drudgery of his necessary project work. The evening was a close affair once more, the eruption seemingly passed. They were getting less severe and further apart; he hoped they had not done irrevocable damage. What beautiful things has the mind got in store?
This was the day he thought his pleurisy had become not so debilitating. Breathing was comfortable and pain absent. Later in the evening was wild and he couldn’t help acceptance that his recovery was far from complete. It left him feeling a little inadequate, although maybe it was the erratic times that his urges were succumbing to. He had recently checked his hairline for numerical signs that could explain his historical poor behaviour. Maybe, he thought, he needed to shave the lot off, just to be sure. TBC
Simply seen as a maverick character before his behaviour was cause for more serious concern. He trusted the maniac was more fun to be with than not but it really must have driven his loved ones nuts sometimes. It could be so extreme that it clouded reality and lead to situations that surely must jeopardise everything. He could blame his despicable life, there were indeed horrific childhood events, but he didn’t. It was his personality defect, which he suspected was congenital and unless he assumed complete responsibility for it it would surely win and lead to his demise.
Some years ago he had seen a psychiatrist on Ave Louise whilst in Brussels, boy did he stir up some hornets. He had attended about half a dozen consultations and Dr van Acker had quickly diagnosed that his ‘roots were rotten’; the doc blamed his Mother for everything. Whilst she was quite evil to him, he preferred not to think that she had left her mark on his life and that he couldn’t consequently prevail over himself. His Dad had died when he was young, he thought it had not affected him as much as people believed probable from the horrific nature of the events surrounding it. In many ways it had a positive effect removing the main source of conflict with his Mother, the breakdown of his parents marriage had been very acrimonious. However, it had made him focus on his education, which progressed far enough over a sufficiently long period that any personality could not ruin that too, until now perhaps.
He lived in his own little private world imagining his Dad looking over his shoulder and being proud of his achievements. He didn’t know what this meant, maybe it was just his way of dealing with his huge insecurity. Maybe that insecurity was covered by his extremes of behaviour. Today, he felt ill, disgusted and ashamed for allowing himself to get where he was. For allowing himself, through lack of self-control, to hurt so much the small number of people who adored him. That number had dwindled over the last few years probably, although he hadn’t noticed, because of the way he was. He was charming yet introvert keeping himself to himself but those who knew him sought out the maniac in a quest for the bizarre. He felt this his last chance and after trying on a few occasions recently this must be it, else he thought his life might spiral out of control and it wouldn’t be too pretty. He had neglected so many important things, unable to cope with the simplest of tasks that are fundamental to existence.
He had been reading the initial chapters of a Big Book on his daily travel to work and wondered if he was alone in the struggle afterall. He had spoken to many people over the last few months and noticed very many similarities (but findamental differences) with their lives. He was consequently excited at the prospect of emulating their successes and overcoming this beast.
Just Like You (Rollins)
I am the man from a human choke hold
I am the product of your restraint
I watched the years pass by me
Never once did I complain
Never once did I say no
Now I watch myself explode
My body is scarred by age
Now you get to taste my rage
From the wreckage of humiliation
I got my self respect
I pulled myself together
What the hell did you expect
You should see the pain I go through
When I see myself I see you
Everything that you did I do
When I see myself I see you
RageI
'm just like you
My flesh isn't my flesh
My blood isn't my blood
An incident happened upon exiting Embankment Station. he was late for work and had spent the journey into work thinking about how he could affect a change in his life. Quite jittery after a drunken argument the previous evening, the sum of the parts being greater than each problem. His reaction to the incident was typical and something he knew he must address in recovery. Departing the station a middle aged slight lady stood in his path, she seemed quite nervous and unsure of how to resolve the situation. He moved to one side and she did the same, the process was repeated and she was glared at. He moved markedly to the side and with a wide berth moved forward. She walked in the same direction as him and veered back close to his new path, he walked even wider to avoid a collision. Once a collision was averted he felt it necessary to produce a loud, and audible quite some distance, ‘For God’s sake’. This was going to be hard but clearly necessary work.
He had for some weeks thought about getting away for a week to attend to some important mind and other issues.. The request for a week off was OK’d at work and in June that year he planned to fly off to Sarasota Florida. He knew this place from a research conference he’d attended quite some time earlier, it would be perfect to assist (he thought) in convalescence.
Reading at lunch in Temple Gardens he sought further guidance. By now all his thoughts had calmed him and his blood alcohol level was more acceptable too. There were 4 shaded seats taken by down and outs, he couldn’t help thinking that could be him if things weren’t sorted. It also reminded of an incident one lunchtime, en route to the Edgar Wallace. There’s a sheltered area leading up to Essex St where tramps keep dry and seemingly sleep overnight. One blurted out in Tourettes style, ‘you’ll be here in 6 months, I’ll still be here’. At the time it didn’t make him think for long unfortunately, but it had revisited often since.
Non-gregarious office workers took the remaining seats in the first area of Temple Garden, he wandered on a little further and found an unoccupied bench. Reading a story he saw many similarities. His irritability with the varying luminance (due to the sun/clouds), and the accompanying changes in temperature were clearly on display, He didn’t like himself al all today. Two colleagues passed and made a joke of being in the gardens, one offered some coppers, his book was closed with a finger retaining the place. One asked him what he was reading; he said he couldn’t say, some curious looks but it was left at that. Bill gave him hope.
He had been putting off moving funds around and could not pay for next months holiday, it was due and due to the late decision the money was not in an accessible place for the purpose of paying it. He confessed his uselessness and asked his partner if they would pay it on their card and he would give them a cheque later. Uselessness breeds low self-esteem breeds more uselessness. Another simple task beyond him in this state it seemed.
The afternoon was taken up with meetings, but his attention span was low. It would be a fine line between getting home and going to an evening meeting, He wasn't feeling in top health and his calves were stiff, early claudication he thought. There was a hold-up on the tube and he got home at 7.10 and the meeting was at 7.30, he excused himself saying he was unwell and decided to relax and think instead.
The following morning he wandered into work for 9.30, legs still stiff walking down the stairs that morning. He had a quiet morning preparing for a lengthy meeting called by US colleagues from 2-6pm. In between he amused himself with the second day of the test match on bbc.co.uk. A colleague from the US passed by his desk, he couldn't help conjuring up images of the Dukes of Hazard and how she fared vs Daisy. He charmed a while, or so he thought but she probably thought he was drunk from the previous night or just a nutter. A male colleague overheard and joined in the frivolity. He wondered what people really made of that bizarre shit that flowed so easily.
A meeting up near Leicester square had to be missed as he had a working lunch 12.00 to 12.30 and it hadn't begun at 12.40, so the logistics just wouldn't work. The afternoon meeting was a long drag from which he escaped periodically saying ‘just got to nip out and do something’. He was amused with the naughtiness and it became a game to find things to do so as not to return straight away. Around the office until 6 he left for what he only found out at lunchtime was a Bank holiday weekend. He wondered if that was normal not knowing it was a bank holiday and again amused himself with thought around why he had not known. Some days he simply had not known what day it was and had to ask passers by. His pride might have been hurt by those episodes but the strangeness of it amused his sedated mind. He recalled it was to be the monthly Gout club (wine and cheese) after the weekend on the Tuesday and resolved to remember. He had bought some cheeses on a recent trip to Basel and wondered what colour they may be in the spare fridge in the utility having spent two days in Switzerland in a warm hotel room. What colour might they be if his resolution was not kept and they stayed there another month until the next club.
Returning home he felt drained living in his own little cocooned world where bizarre was the norm. He listened to the Smashing Pumpkins thinking ‘were these guys in a similar world due to the effects of more, or maybe less, nefarious substances?’
"Tell me, tell me what you're after, I just wanna get their faster."
He was quite unwell that evening, after trimming the soggy lawn he developed a pain in the left shoulder and by 10pm it had grown unbearable. After lying for 30 mins or so the pain had spread to his left side and he became breathless and consequently worried. It intrigued him that stimuli to the mind could self-perpetuate themselves so easily, like this and like the self-doubt following a bust-up with his lover. He rose as this seemed to ease the symptoms and within half an hour the pain in the shoulder had completely gone and that down his side was only apparent upon deep breaths. He thought whatever comes as long as it didn't hurt, like that had hurt in bed, he would be alright. About 4am he returned to bed and, after a little discomfort in settling, slept heavily for 4 hours.
"I keep this diary to tell the wonderful stories in my life". Modified from Oscar Wilde, unfortunately they may seem wonderful on the main stage but behind the scenes they are torturous.
He dozed until 1.30 pm listening to the 'rain stopped play' test match banter which woke him as an Agnew recorded message playing over and over. He felt a little better his shoulder had ceased to crease and the pains down his side were dulled, as was the day. It lashed all afternoon, in Edgbaston at the Cricket too. It seemed like the pains had calmed but the nightime was to be a storm indeed. After an early night he again awoke in the early hours around 1.30 am. This had become part of his life but not usually triggered in such a devastating fashion. It was now Sunday and since 5am he had slept on the couch, supine in both character and posture. He felt at the will of whatever befell him, afterall it was ‘his responsibility’ and ‘could it be any worse than that he had endured over the preceding months if not years’. He spent from 10am until 3pm at the hospital amusing himself with his ‘uncanny’ ability to detect the slightest of arrythmias by listening to his body. A lovely Indian Doctor called Dave looked after him and after a while assured him it was not his heart. He asked for reassurance re his brain and Dave said it's very important to look after that, he was sure Dave knew that he knew too. He was not sure Dave knew if he knew how to.
It was a better day weather wise, the garden looked lovely and the Cricket victorious. His lovers car was being attended to whilst he was. Pains had waned and general lethargy had too. She was drinking wine and he wondered if he should have a glass, Bills story was fresh in his mind however. An early night, he took the plethora of smarties and went off very quickly. As usual the TV was on and as usual it wasn't when he woke, just the purring channel, he smiled and briefly felt lucky.
It was light and he had slept through, it was 7.30am. Monday 29th May, no pains and calm. He had been here so many times before that he couldn't relax and consider this anything but the restart of a huge struggle. He only hoped it would last longer than his previous futile attempts. The rebuilding of everything begins, it didn’t seem such a task today, even yesterday it appeared insurmountable. He had dozed on until noon, it was a start. Many years had he trod this path and it wasn’t going to be easy to get forgiveness from everyone but as long as he made amends in some way. One day at a time.
Hounds freeze in silence bewitched by the reptile spell
Sulphurous essence pervades round the grassy dell
Heorot awaits him like lamb to the butchers knife
Stellular heavens ignore even childrens cries
Screams are his music, lightning his guide
Raping the darkness, d-d-death by his side
Chants rise in terror, free round the oaken beams
Flickering firelight portraying the grisly scene
Warriors advance, prepare for the nightmare foe
Futile their sacrifice as even their hearts must know
Heroes delusion, with feet in the grave
Lurker at the threshold, he cares not for the brave, he cares not for the brave
A gentle afternoon gardening left him breathless, as did the special evening closeness. How can anyone with so much allow matters to get so out of control and jeopardise all? Some people have so much love they can forgive almost anything and some are lucky to be forgiven by the special ones.
Tuesday: He woke early but lay in bed awake until late for work wanting to hang onto the loveliness of yesterday. Gout Club, splendid curds and much fine juice delivered from the left hand side, in the afternoon. He enjoyed it a little more than safe, slept on the tube and was met with loving smile on returning home. He felt lucky to have been blessed with beautiful love from two special women, with his current and ultimate love for 6 years since the break up of his marriage. His eventual perceived unhappiness was probably a reflection of his condition more than anything else. Nevertheless he had found something very special and subsequently retained the previous happy memories. For both to put up with him, for so long, he must have done something right at sometime.
The evening was wild and exciting and reminiscent of what was once commonplace. Such recent experiences had dragged him back from the edge, restored some residue of self-esteem and given him a chink. This night was indeed soul restoring. He had a great-untold love story, she was his life and he was clinging on desperately. The awakening and lateness of the previous morning was repeated over the next few days. Relative sobriety and closeness were working wonders on his resolve to tackle the beast head on.
‘Warriors advance, prepare for the nightmare foe’, or is it heroes delusion?
He recalled the numbness the following morning during the early extraordinary years and here it was once more, he had never experienced that with anyone else. The evening was again a repeat and the following morning too. The strength afforded by recent events would be invaluable in the weeks ahead, or was he fooling himself with such hope?
Thursday 1st June: He floated to the tube station at a fashionably late time, just missed the Met and got on the Piccadilly. The fatigue was much less noticeable and his mind had become active again, he felt that a good thing as long as he could control it. He read some philosophical shite and listened to songs with stories. There was a problem at Holborn, a security alert that didn’t make any news, he needed to get off at Covent Garden. The queues for the lifts were 10 deep and he decided to take the stairs. A spiral staircase, which seemed to go on forever. Since the new year he had been walking much around west London sometimes doing 30 miles a week to and from work and during lunch times. The spiral staircase nevertheless won and by the top his lungs were on fire. The subsequent 10 min walk to work simply extended the pain period and it took him the rest of the morning to recover. Consulting a medical friend he was advised he shouldn’t be engaging in such activities with pleurisy, the lung could become attached to the rib cage and result in collapse. It didn’t sound a desirable state.
Early departure from work and a quiet mindless evening and early retirement, the latter saving him from the rest of the shiraz. An early start for work the following morn and excited at the prospect of showing off his Darling who was meeting him after work. The beast had however tried to contact disguised as one of the denizens of like beasts that inhabit the stagnant mire.… as Grendel stalks the night
Earth rim walker seeks his meals
Prepare the funeral pyresT
he shapers songs no longer head the fear
Within their eyes, within their eyes, arise, derise, demise.
The rhythm of its cruelty had infact been broken; the night was not his playground anymore. He entered work excited about the day ahead. Quotes throughout from ‘Grendel’: http://www.lyricsfreak.com/m/marillion/grendel_20088812.html
Friday was a lovely day for him, looking forward to the evening. She arrived late around 5.15 after shopping in the afternoon down Oxford St. They met at Enbankment station and had a couple of wines in Gordons. They arrived home about 8.30 and danced the evening away. They were happy songs and she was quite the most beautiful girl he could imagine and he wondered ‘why me?’
Tonight I'm gonna have myself a real good time I feel alive
And the world I'll turn it inside out yeah
I'm floating around in ecstasy
So don't stop me now
Don't stop me 'cause I'm having a good time
Having a good time
I'm a shooting star leaping through the sky
Like a tiger defying the laws of gravity
I'm a racing car passing by like Lady Godiva
I'm gonna go go go there's no stopping me
I'm burning through the sky yeah
Two hundred degrees that's why they call me Mr. Fahrenheith
I'm travelling at the speed of light
I wanna make a supersonic woman of you
Don't stop me now I'm having such a good time
I'm having a ball
Don't stop me nowIf you wanna have a good time
Just give me a call
Don't stop me now'cause I'm having a good time
Don't stop me now Yes I'm having a good time
I don't wanna stop at all
I'm a rocket ship on my way to Mars
On a collision course
I am a satellite I'm out of control
I'm a sex machine ready to reload
Like an atom bomb about to oh oh oh oh oh explode
I'm burning through the sky yeah
Two hundred degrees that's why they call me Mr. Fahrenheith
I'm travelling at the speed of lightI wanna make a supersonic woman of you
She passed out quickly and life was fine, she was fantastic and he sober. Life was great again but all the time there was worry at the back of his mind: It was a lovely morning, sun shining inside and out. He woke early as usual, quickly realised it was the weekend and had nothing important to do until lunch time. They spent the day looking around property in Aylesbury, it was exciting planning for a future, one that seemed real today. Their move away from London was a step closer, although quite a few strides away, and one huge leap. When people get close they seem to get scared, why after such great moments in some lives do they all of a sudden, no warning, get spooked by the prospect of happiness or by underlying mistrusts? Of course when there has been such turmoil, as there had it’s difficult to trust again or perhaps to open oneself up to a repeat of the pain.
The cruelty of some is unbelievable, it had damn near killed them, sad pathetic creatures rummaging for snippets of comfort and living on the scraps of humanity they receive. He knew he had to overcome this anger as part of overcoming himself, but it wasn’t going to be easy.
Ugly, You and me
You see, you see, you see the real me
Oh So obscene
Flapping wildly
You see what I mean
Oh Keep away
Can’t see why you do what you do
And you say what you say
(Rollins)
Something had been said on Saturday evening and old wounds had been reopened by a small thing grown by an insanely jealous mind, the poison sent was still doing it’s work. He found solace in the Pimms and wondered if the uncertainty was ever going to end. This day he realised that unless a safer means was found of help and comfort he would surely lose.
He had Friday received an e-mail from an ‘Anne Philips’ who he didn’t know, Anne made out that they had been in touch and she were coming over from the US and would meet up if he wasn’t ‘fixed up’. There were obvious pointers, which gave it away, were they not happy with the torture they had inflicted already? His rage grew all day, and he kept it all in, safe and sound.
His mind was elsewhere in the evening, analysing the effect that the uncertainty was imposing on itself. He played happy songs which had reduced effect today.
Monday 5th June: Early start and resolved to conquer all. It was a peaceful day, measured by his calm as indicated in his unusual lack of perception of probable office hilarity at his weekend sun baked, un-pigmented epidermis. Work was productive and he enjoyed a little research interest that was used to fill in the gaps between the drudgery of his necessary project work. The evening was a close affair once more, the eruption seemingly passed. They were getting less severe and further apart; he hoped they had not done irrevocable damage. What beautiful things has the mind got in store?
This was the day he thought his pleurisy had become not so debilitating. Breathing was comfortable and pain absent. Later in the evening was wild and he couldn’t help acceptance that his recovery was far from complete. It left him feeling a little inadequate, although maybe it was the erratic times that his urges were succumbing to. He had recently checked his hairline for numerical signs that could explain his historical poor behaviour. Maybe, he thought, he needed to shave the lot off, just to be sure. TBC
posted by Camp David at 1:59 AM
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