What do I want? To be with my lover who has declared herself not my lover. Oh it hurts, my gods it hurts, because all I want to do I is make things right, The bodies age, and the minds age too. But what are we to do? It seems senseless to give up at this time. A year of shit and pain, events outside our ken. Just dreadful in every sense. Suicide. Death. Two family members. It has broken us I think. I am still trying, but it seems so futile. Never such love and innocence again.
My black dog. Or as I prefer, my black beast. Psychiatrists and community psychiatric nurses tend to ask very banal questions, such as: “Can you identify your trigger points?” Well, the short answer is no. When the real and deadly fit comes upon me, it is always without warning, often with no aggravating circumstances. It is as if a black cloud exhales from my being – a me – not me – that solidifies and ossifies like a black beast that encases me. The real me shrinks to the size of a guttering night-light flame. The black beast has all the power, and the glimmer of me can do nothing but protest in a tiny voice.
Thankfully this has only taken me over fully twice in my life, in 2007 and 2008. It has partially tried a handful of times since, but I am canny. Last Thursday it turned up big-time. The black beast cares not for the consequences of your children findng you hanging or stabbed through the heart.
I took every variety of pill I had, and for the first time I called the Samaritans. She was wonderful. And so many friends have reached out and sent their love on facebook, so I suppose that spying, advertising, watching, habit-logger has some positive value.
Things improved gradually over the next few days. I'm still in a hole. But I'm not drowning. And the Samaritans got £20.