2 years ago, he'd woken this morning,with a smile on his face. The blanketing warmth of the body next to him gave him value. A reason to lift his body from the mattress. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest as she slept, echoing the rhythm and stability she bought to his life. The gentle tapping as the veins pulled back against the surge of blood, racing through them, the only sound that gave meaning to his life.
A quick look at his phone and the four messages telling him how great the night had been, boosting his spirits. The sheer pleasure of something as simple as being able to take his ipod into the bathroom to listen to while in the shower, seemed to guild this perfect life with exquisite taste and decorum.
Opening the doors to the garden, he'd light another cigarette and the mere taste would excite his senses. Like prodding an open wound, his mouth would come alive with the tastes of the previous night. Images would flash across his eyes: skin, sweat, smoke...The calming flood of incoming nicotine subduing the guilt and the pain inside. It was far from ending, but with a life like this, it was bearable. His friends would support him if they knew. But they didn't need to. The darkness was in check.
With his fingers on his temples, he'd sit, sometimes for an hour or more, just remembering, thinking, dreaming. The birdsong wouldwash his mind clear from all the murkiness and leave him with only an incling that everything was not alright. In the same way that a boat can sail happily across an ocean without knowing that fathoms below, a violet sea of turmoil turns light to darkness and remorselessly obliterates anything which stands in its way, so he was living out his weekends in this alcohol drenched, tobacco filled hole, silently drowning. He knew that something would probably snap at some point. But he was safe right now. There was a slight tapping of discontent from within. But right now, there was another party to prepare for. Another girl to chase and another bottle of the clear, calm-giving nectar which kept that top layer of water so very different from what lay underneath.
He woke to the sound of his alarm and wondered at once why the endless hammering inside his head hadn't woken him hours before. The tapping had grown. IT had happened so slowly that it hadn't ever seemed like an issue before. Each knock to his confidence and every chip in his self-esteem had taken a tiny little little piece of him. Pasting over the cracks by insisting that everything was fine and that he was enjoying this lifestyle had eventually caught up. Like constructing a building without filling in the cracks in the walls, eventually the combined total structural weakness will render the building susceptible to even a gentle wind. Crack by crack, he'd been weakened to such an extent that now didn't stand a chance.
His eyes could see the glorious sunshine and hear the same morning-after birdsong as before. But in his mind, a relentless cold crept into every little part of him. There was no warmth in his life; no sunshine to warm him, no birdsong to help him think. The gentle tapping noise that he had carried with him everywhere previously, was now a loud banging noise, pounding, crashing and thudding inside his head. The pressure was so immense, it caused him physical pain. His emaciated self looked back at him from his bathroom mirror. The disgusting sight which met his eyes made his skin crawl. Fat and greed looked into his eyes as he descended deeper into the violent inside. The lock on the door would hold the world at bay for a while, but not forever. They had beaten him and taken everything from him, would they not now leave him to die in peace?
The night before, he had lain in his bed and could hear the revelry below. The noise of love, happiness and enjoyment. The pounding inside was blinding. He could hear the old Dave screaming in pain as he was ripped to pieces, clinically dissected and examined for every flaw and weakness. He was crying inside and being chained up here, alone. He wanted to join them, but the chains that bound him to this miserable existence were too strong. They were criticising him for what he was becoming, but it was their weaponry that was doing the damage. They were cursing his name and starting to abandon him. But he was a monster of their creation. And just as Frankenstein despised his creation, they looked in disappointed disgust at the man they used to know.
His vocal chords were coarse and raw with the yelling inside. But it made no difference. His old life was collapsing around him and there was nothing he could do. Forced to watch from inside his own head. As he sat in bed, the last tear running down his cheek, seeing the last scraps of everything he used to have slip beyond reach, a bit more of him died. The night would be a long one. And the morning would not come to his rescue.
He hated the world. Why did he have to live this life? He wanted to start a fire and watch everything and everyone burn. He wanted the world to wither and die, painfully and slowly. To listen as their mocking laughter gave way to screams of hurt and pain. To watch as they lost everything, the way he had. To watch them bask in the glory of their holy disease.
It was late in the day when he woke. The words from last night made him smile. 2 years ago he'd have awoken in a vicious fury at the thought that she wanted someone else. But now the whole idea gave him a feeling of pity. They were all stuck in their same, never ending cycle. The warming body next to him had long gone from his life. The inward torment was lessening now and the throbbing and pounding in his mind had subsided somewhat. In the last year he had completely reverse engineered himself, had undone a lifetime of personal growth and had started again. With all of his old daemons excised, he could live his life without the drives and desires that caused everyone else to act so selfishly. He had risen above his former self.
The love and joy he used to feel were long gone, and even the anger and hatred had began to transform into pity. Everyone had continued their lives in his absence. Although it appeared that things were very different now to how they used to be, the patterns had continued. The drink, the drama, the problems. Nothing really changes.
The wheels that had been set in motion 2 years ago, were finally grinding to a halt. As the hour glass began to empty, he started to look at the world differently. It was not his world in which to live. In the same way humans watching ants would consider their problems trivial and insignificant, so he could see that the life he used to life, their life, was very much the same. He had been liberated from his life and could breathe clearly for the first time in his life.
He'd never tell them, because they'd either not care, or they'd blame themselves. But his swan song was nearing its completion. It wasn't out of pity or selfishness that he had to complete his work. But he didn't appreciate the life he was being forced to lead. He would leave this world by his own hand. And in his eternal absence, he hoped that they might one day come to understand. At the moment, they didn't see how badly corrupted the world really is. There was good, yes. But existence favours the selfish. And if its burn or be burned, then sometimes, self-incineration was the only way to win.
As the clock continues to tick, I wish you all the very best