If You Were MY WIFE I'd Drink It

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If you were my wife, I'd drink it

There seems to be no depth to the decline

the spiralling plunge down into the belly

of the beast of despair...

Only sleep...

Juxtaposed between LBC - London's Biggest Conversation's

Steve Allen's voice

Which sprinkles the odd smile on my lips

and pierces these fast building frosty icycles

across my Heart & Soul.

I no longer feel the need for food or water

Meal times are only a time of day

not a feeling in my tummy

Thirst is a rarity

I can't seem to find my balance

My equilibrium,

My former joy

I am lost in the internal metaphorical tunnels of blackness

My metaphorical fingernails gripped so tight

that they are almost ripped from their moorings,

with the struggles of trying to tread water

and almost failing to survive.

Scary.

I am breathing in and gulping the fast flowing

metaphorical water.

I am drowning and my only fear is my present state.

The horrors of this non-state being

Stasis.

Each second I repetitively remind myself that

my dear friend Birgit is going to ring me on the

patient's phone at 7pm this evening.

Plus, Emma, my line-manager and Ken,

my manager are to physically visit me this

Friday 2nd October 2009. Afternoon.

I am locking down.

I am fazing out.

I hear that I feel like this because I am getting better.

Just like my great mentor

Sir Winston Churhill,

I drink the daily 30mls of trifluoperazine

[Stelazine]

I am lost.

Searching...

Sleep finds and leaves me...

I dare not ask for it's permanence.

I write this and feel no carthartic benefit.

I need love to anchor me

in this place

of seemingly lost souls.

I need LOVE.

I must find it within.