15-7-2021: Day 35
I was sitting in the high street, sipping on a flat white from the Tom Foolery coffee shop, when, for the first time in an ocean of time, I realised the ship of Paranoia had sailed.
For thirteen long years, this debilitating state had stalked the corridors of my mind, annexed my mental health, and subverted all thought of recovery, respite, and redemption. And there amongst the Tom Foolery massive, dosing up on a caffeinated treat, I was reflecting on the battle with Paranoia the Destroyer.
Over this ‘unlucky’ chapter of my life, I couldn’t set foot in a coffee shop, restaurant, bar, or night club without triggering an episodic bout of Paranoia.
I would pull up a pew in said establishment – gruesomely nursing a coffee or beer – and feel the heart race, the blood boil and mind recoil under the fearful grip of this very human emotion. But, like the slate stone clouds overhead, it would eventually come to blow over.
18-7-2021: Day 38
Last night was our First Date night of summer, and, sipping on a chilled drink and blazing a little kaya, we watched the sun turn a burning shade of red and drop behind the ducking and diving hills of the Sussex Downs.
A light breeze blew along the natural fringes of Mill Hill – as we took in the scenery, stretching from the ocean wind farms, via the congested spaghetti-flyover and winding glass surface of the River Adur – as we swatted at the flies spiralling in the dusk light.
Swigging back my alcohol, swirling the melting ice cubes in the glass, I contemplated the grave undertaking of my path to recovery. Fifteen years on the psych meds, and they were rattling inside my head.
It was a chain of addiction to break.
The pills, in time, would be slowly tapered off, eventually going cold turkey sometime under a new moon.
And looking up at the mystical half-moon – the G&T half-slice of lemon – it seemed to gently tease this thorny resolution, hanging brightly in the sky over my head.
21-7-2021: Day 41
While the extreme weather warnings are flashing across the Island’s gulf-stream news headlines, so the extreme weather conditions of my mind are causing storms, thunder, lightning, and flash-flooding through my resting thoughts.
The Voices have been jinxing my vibe, unsettling my flow, and pulling the Persian Black Phoenix rug from under my feet. They are making their presence felt, undermining the temporary peace accord, and gleefully shaking the carefully brick and mortared foundations of my recovery.
Outside, the mercury thermometers are soaring in the midday twilight zone. The sun is beating down hard on fried egg cooking concrete. Mad dogs are panting, straining on the lead, darting in the direction of shade and water. And Englishmen are scratching their heads, choosing to mask-up in the heat, not feeling the sketchy, ill-conceived, freedoms being handed down by the City.
The nation pauses, to draw breath, and seek shade in the cool shadows.