Today I wrote the “Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Daa” blog – in actual fact it was really easy to write – I felt I was writing about someone else – probably was writing about someone else.
He, the happy go lucky extrovert – me, the guy who hasn’t got the capacity, the courage, the momentum to get out of the tent.
I could feel the fog descending yesterday afternoon. I chose to ignore it – put it to one side – it’s not convenient – I don’t want to cause any trouble. Folk are awaiting their exam results – people have other priorities.
Today, the inside of the tent is all I can take – my air filled mat, my sleeping bag, kilt, sporran, headlight, first aid kit, coats, money gifted to me, bread and blister plasters, wet wipes and nappy sacks are all around me in the inner lining. In the outer bit lies my rucksack and my dab radio that started to work again for the first time since Tain. That’s a while ago.
What does this look like? To the external world I guess I appear sluggish – almost other worldly – everything feels like a huge effort. The idea of putting all my bits and pieces together into a rucksack feels unimaginable today. Walking – likewise.
It’s all so far away. I’ve just noticed, my breathing’s laboured – it’s like it’s reluctant – I don’t know.
In my head is a sticky mist – it’s like I’m suddenly linked to all my previous episodes – crawling on the floor – my face in mud – it’s like I’m hiding or just inert or maybe both.
I know it comes back – it always does – but each time I feel horribly defeated – flattened by this thing I feel I should have control of.
I feel mildly irritated by myself – pull yourself together – it will pass – and yet any sounds – cars and lorries and motorbikes passing on the road next to me – are intolerable.
I wont do anything to myself is what I’ll shout to anyone who asks – but the urge to batter my head to just stop this fucking noise is astonishing.
I’ve promised though.
I want to say “I’m a bit mad” in a frivolous way – a way that makes it more comfortable for others.
I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. I know the world is real – it’s just that it’s refusing to be just that. I’m doing my best to write down what’s going on – but I feel so detached – so inhuman.
The urge to cut off my limbs – especially my left hand – is incredibly strong (I’ve no idea why) – thankfully all I have is my north pole spoon.
I want it to stop – that’s all – these recordings of my past playing simultaneously all around me – little vignettes each calling for my absolute attention.
The pain – the guilt – the self loathing – my teeth are clenched – my hands tightening in fists of rage.
It will pass – it always does – my breathing is heavy – resigned. My heart is thumping.
I promised myself I’d write about it – I can’t face committing it to video though.
My other great urge is to apologise for the inconvenience caused – a promise that normal service will be resumed shortly – in a day – a week – an hour – who knows, or so…
Walk a mile