Tag Archives: mental health

guilty

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i have a confession to make. it is something i’ve been keeping hidden for a long time. something secret that i only do in the small hours of an evening. when the shadows crawl in across the floor of the room and my family are in their beds asleep. it is something to be done in the near dark.

i got dragged in out of curiosity. i had heard a lot about it and my interest was aroused. my feelings towards it were animosity. it was something we could all do without. something dangerous. something world destroying. career destroying. but my interest was piqued. i wanted to see. see what the fuss was about. then leave it alone. that’s how it got me.

it was late at night. house silent. me alone downstairs. i admit i had a few glasses of wine. maybe that was the cause. and the ipad was on. so i guess i’m saying it was inevitable. not my fault. it was going to happen sometime. it happened then.

i went into google. google ai. and i typed: tell me about the writer slam fitzsimons. i was expecting nothing. or a sentence at best. i was shocked and pleased at the same time by what it found. paragraph and paragraph about me as a writer appeared. i was amazed. it said nice things about my writing style and my work. i couldn’t even get my family to do that. i existed as a writer. those hours i had spent writing short stories, novels, prose-poems, and performing spoken word were noticed. i existed. i existed on the internet and i would not be forgotten. there would be an ai somewhere that remembered me. the world might remember me. i hadn’t wasted my time in the corner of pubs and cafes scribbling. scribbling something no one would read. it would exist as a summary somewhere.

i took a sip of wine. a sip of wine to drown my guilt. the guilt of emptying a lake somewhere of water and an electricity grid of power to find out if i existed. i was reassured. i could now leave it alone. couldn’t i?

moment 28

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typewriter image. black and white.

he sat down typed a sentence then stopped. where another once followed there was nothing. just blank. not a thought. not a murmur. not a whisper. just nothing. he crossed the sentence out, moved the paper up. clean. blank. he typed a sentence, different this time. a start of a thought. but the thought remained hidden. elusive. he stopped. where another would follow there was nothing. he pulled the offending paper from the typewriter and tore it to pieces. he threw them about the room. they landed amongst others. he put a new sheet in the machine. stared at the page. once they had been friends. now they were enemies. an invisible barrier lay between them. a breath’s thickness but it was enough. perhaps today was the day. he stood up and made his way to the cellar. took a key off a nail and unlocked the gun cabinet. he took out the shotgun and two shells. he returned to the writing room. he lent the gun in the corner and placed the shells on the windowsill. upright. proud. he looked at them a moment and sat down. he rubbed the scar on his brow. perhaps today. he typed a sentence. a thought. a moment. and waited.

moment 9

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every time it happens it amazes me. i can be sitting happily at home or lying in bed, nodding off after a tiring day, or even watching tv, or reading a book, then it creeps up. the little nag at first, a small tapping of the needle in a corner of my brain. Tap. Tap. i try to ignore it. refocus on going to sleep, focusing on the programme or the page. TAp. TAp. my stomach begins to clench as it know what is coming. TAP. TAP. then the voices, the cry of what ifs reexamining the day and where i went wrong or think i went wrong. did that person really mean that or were they hiding their true feelings. maybe they secretly despise. you may think that would be enough but not for my mind. it is just getting warmed up. now we top it off with predictive what ifs. what if i do something wrong at work tomorrow? what if my boss sees it? what if they find out i’m not any good? what if – what if – what if. it yells in my ear. my heart beats fast. i begin to sweat. everything around me is reduced to nothing. i just hear the voices. you’re a charlatan! you deserve to fail! you’re no good to anyone. i try to focus on my breathing like i’ve been taught. centre my mind on a single part of my body. focus. come on, focus! the voices laugh and yell at volume. out of control. they jump from cell to cell in my brain. kicking at the positive, knocking it down, crushing it under foot. count to ten, count to ten, count to ten. focus on your breathing. then the disasters tear up as punishment. the abject fears of harm to my family. did i lock the doors? is everyone safe? the voices come back: but if you did lock them, can you be sure? can you be trusted? surely, something so important can’t be trusted to you? count to ten. count to ten. count to ten. breathe in slowly. hold it. breathe out. focus on the toe. the right toe. now follow the toe along the leg. take a journey. one part at a time. the voices quieten to a whisper, not completely gone, just murmuring enough for me to know they are there. i get up, walk to the kitchen, and pour myself a glass of wine.