Thursday, 18 August 2016


I keep making the most crass mistakes. All I can think of is withdrawing from the world to avoid them and so I feel much closer to death and more ready for it. Jane asked me this morning what was  up with me and suggested getting therapy but I said that all I would do is cry. She said that would be a good thing and that I would stop eventually. Hmm.

I cancelled a meet with some friends just now and sort of wished I hadn't but I'm sort of glad I did.

I wrote this poem earlier

The Door

When the time comes,
I shall be alone.
Those who are tending me,
The man on the street,
A nurse or you,
Will be there 
But you will leave me at the door.
I have never been truly alone before;
What will it be like?
A simple question asked with innocence
The answer to which I do not know.
I shall not be the first to walk through the door,
I shall not be the last
But it will be the first and last time I do it
And I shall be alone.

Enough said?

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