Uit het boek
I wake exhausted. The first hurdle is getting out of bed. Why would I? Why would anyone? What’s out there of value? Nothing. I look at the ceiling as haunting memories return to my mind. Small things first: people I’ve hurt, unpleasant conversations I’ve had, stuff I screwed up. Then the big issues: Amie, Mary, you, me. How I’ve lost so much in so little time and how I blame myself. I roll out of bed because filling my time with inconsequential incentives sounds preferable to staying alone with me. I go get breakfast: cornflakes and brandy, and if this is a particularly off-day, a spliff. I get angry at myself for living like this, which ironically offers me more reason to numb myself. All the while my brain scorns me with all its might: a considerable amount, only I know all I’ve done. I check my phone: I didn’t get any messages, perhaps one from you. Even if I did, I’d wilfully ignore it. I don’t have the energy to maintain composure for anyone. I know there’s no reason to check, but I guess I want more people to care. Even though I know that if they would, I’d push them away. The same as with you: I both want and need your help desperately, and simultaneously am annoyed to bits by any actual support. Hours pass, bottles slowly get emptied, tobacco gets smoked. I get hungry again. Cooking for myself sounds like a joke at this point. I decide to clog my arteries with a type of fast food. I realize as I’m paying the delivery boy, this is the first time I’ve seen the sun today. I close the door and don’t miss it. I go to bed, only to be awoken by my own enervation the next day.