Monday, 30th of April

Firstly, from my conversation with Elvina/Denise, the dreams.
Denise also dreams of the end of the world. Perhaps not as regularly as I do, but they’re a common part of her life. She told me some of the details of her dreams, and like me they take in a variety of places and detail different destructions. The most incredible dream for her though, the most vivid dream, is the dream. She can see herself on a stage and extending into the distance – miles into the distance, she said it seems – is a huge and enthusiastic crowd. It’s by far the largest crowd she’s ever seen, let alone performed to. She starts to play, but the songs aren’t her usual repertoire – they are darker and more disturbing, leaning on images of death and torture. And the strange thing is that the crowd loves it and she loves it. Her voice doesn’t alter even though the repertoire has changed, and the crowds just adore these cries of doom. Perhaps, she theorises, everyone there knows what’s to come and all are welcoming it in.

But the moment seems to come quicker than anyone can imagine, as just as she hits a high note there is a boom in the distance and suddenly everything in front of her evaporates.

Sunday, 29th of April

I’m just back from my coffee in Elvina. Nervously I walked through the rain to a cafe in Shepherd’s Market and now my head is spinning. To be honest I didn’t recognise her, the girl I met was a paler and more wan, with dirty blonde hair (in performance it’s a wig apparently). Off stage she also seemed shorter, less curvy, shyer. Her eyes were the same though, she would always have difficulty hiding that sparkle in her eyes. Leaning forward as we were sharing confidences (and quite softly spoken) she told me that a lot of what I see is showmanship and confidence. She isn’t Elvina in real life.
In real life she is Denise, and it’s what Denise has to tell me which is crucial:

·         She is having dreams as well. In fact she is having the exact same dream where she stands on that stage, performing in a park and sees a nuclear explosion in the distance.

·         Not only that, she has seen and recognised me in her dreams.

·         There are others like us, others dreaming the same thing. She’s been busier than I was, is less prone to navel gazing, and has got to know some of them.

·         One of them is a dream guru, someone who is exploring this phenomenon and linking them altogether. His name is Dexter Phillips and she is going to introduce me to him.

But that’s only the bare bones of what she told me and I will write all these incredible things in full detail throughout the week. For now, I have to sit down and stop my heart from beating so fast.

Saturday, 28th of April

It was the dream in the park last night. All of us stood together staring at some distant stage, on which Elvina – looking delicious in her full regal Elvis outfit – blasts out doom laden songs to a fast beat. I am stood with Julie (it is definitely Julie) and she bounces happily in my arms as if she doesn’t understand what’s going on. Perhaps no one but me understands what's going on, maybe not one of them is aware that behind us will bloom up a mushroom cloud. We are listening to the end of the world and the end of the world is coming to meet us.
Except there might be one person there who does know what I know. She’s a long way off and so I can’t be sure, but Elvina looks clearer to me up there on the stage. It’s like she’s staring directly at me. Possibly, just possibly, we are communicating already.

Friday, 27th of April

I spoke to Julie on the phone last night and told her about my upcoming coffee with Elvina. She seemed happy for me. Clearly her head is spinning a bit with all this stuff I’m telling her, but she is still there and still supportive. She said she wants to know everything we talk about. She also said she wants to see an Elvina show, just to know who this woman is.
Even though I’m excited about this meeting too, I’m also nervous as hell. What on Earth is Elvina/Denise going to say? What is the answer to all this?

Julie also said she started reading my book and now understands me better. To be honest I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.

Wednesday, 25th of April

An email has arrived!
Elvina/Denise writes:

“Hi. Yes I have read the blog and I think we should meet up. Sunday? Coffee? D.”

When one is having dreams about the end of the world, when one contacts the real people in those dreams and tries to establish a connection which may exist nowhere else but one’s sub-conscious – then, at points, one is entitled to feel that one has gone a little bit mad. There is almost the sound of white coats flapping on the breeze. But when that reaching out elicits a response, then that’s something else. This thing seems bigger than me, and I’m determined to find out what it is.

Monday, 23rd of April

I had a coffee with Julie yesterday. This time I’m being open, this time I’m being upfront. I told her about Elvina and how she appears in my dreams, and how I’ve developed the notion that she is connected in some way to them. Of course it was totally possible that Julie may have raised a sceptical eyebrow at this, and to be honest I think she restrained herself. (I liked her even more than I did already for that.) As obviously it’s more than likely that I appear utterly delusional when explaining all of this, and maybe Julie’s desire to be sympathetic would have been sorely tested and strained if it wasn’t for the email address which had been pressed into my hand. The surprise at that news was impossible for her to hide, but it was a pleased surprise. Even though this is beyond Julie’s realm of experience, even though the tendency of any normal person would be to view me as ‘weird’ or ‘mad’, she can perhaps see a glimmer that there might be something more – something which needs to be followed – in what I’m saying.
We held each other close at the end and kissed softly. Julie promised again to be with me throughout all of this. I don’t know if we’re just really affectionate friends now, or whether we’ll become lovers, but I’m just glad I have her at my side.

Sunday, 22nd of April

After Elvina’s concert last night (where, for a change, she wore the black version of her outfit, with a larger collar made of red satin), one of the bouncers approached me and pressed a note into my hand. I’ll admit I had a moment of panic as this bald, shaven head directed his attention towards me, wondering if this was the moment I’d be ushered outside, banished for harassment. Instead I found this piece of paper in my palm and written on it was an email address for a girl named Denise – I can only assume it’s Elvina’s real name.
I emailed her as soon as I got home:

“Hi!
Thanks for the note. Have you read my blog then? Did you understand it? If so, can we talk?”

There’s no reply as yet.

Saturday, 21st of April

Another dream last night where I see the world ‘afterwards’. That’s the only way I can explain it – whatever cataclysmic event occurs, this is the consequence.
In these dreams it seems to be perpetually dusk, as if a smog has descended determined to choke those few remaining members of humanity. There’s no way I can be sure but I think I’m in London, although a version that seems to have been beaten and destroyed.  I can see myself walking down a road – no, ‘walking’ isn’t right, ‘skulking’ would be a far better word. My movements are furtive, like a rat’s, trying not to be seen or heard. Suddenly ahead, coming faintly on the breeze, are sounds. It’s impossible to tell what these sounds are – no way to know whether they’re human or animal – but my instinct for self preservation is now so high, I take no chances. Rodent-like I back away into the darkness and with every nerve jangling crouch down and wait for these sounds to drift away. I'll wait until I feel safe again, then I’ll re-reconnoitre my route and hopefully continue my journey.

How does all this fit into the puzzle?

Wednesday, 18th of April

I met with Julie last night – for the first time since we broke up and she charged away from me in a taxi down Shaftesbury Avenue. As you can imagine I was nervous as hell, wondering what on earth the evening was going to bring. All day long I steeled myself for a drink hurled into my face, or a ruthless pulling apart of my personality. Mid afternoon I went and sat in the toilet cubicle and tried to work out how bad it could possibly be, and then readied myself for that eventuality. In short, I was terrified.
We met in The Sherlock Holmes on Northumberland Avenue, and one thing I didn’t expect was that she would be there early. I walked in and there she sat, just inside the door, by the window. On the table in front of her was a vodka and coke, which she had consumed half of already. She looked good, dressed in a long black dress with an understandably pensive look on her face. When she saw me though, she did smile as best she could. Only hesitating for a second, I gave her a kiss on the cheek and hurried up to get a drink.

I couldn’t conceive that there was any way I’d have a long time to say my piece, so I spoke quickly. For the first time I told her properly about my dreams, about the incredible visions I have inside my head; explaining that on a regular basis I see the world destroyed, and have to find out what’s going on. I could feel myself talking fast, as I was so excited and desperate to get it all out – but as calmly as I could manage I told her that I’d somehow boxed myself into a corner where I wasn’t telling her what was happening, what the concerns of my mind were. That’s the reason I broke up with her, there wasn’t anything else at all.

And when I looked at her again she was crying.

Surprised I almost blurted out: “Are you okay?” But I noticed in between her tears, a smile.

“Oh,” she said, “you stupid man! You could have told me this at any point. I’ll always be there for you. Please don’t shut me out again. I’m here for you. I’m always here for you.”

I held her hand back. “I’ve missed you,”

“I’ve missed you too.”

As we couldn’t hope the hold the serious pitch all evening long, from then on the conversation got lighter. We caught up with each other and all the latest news in our lives. All the time holding hands across the table, our fingers twisted in tight together.

And, incredibly, at the end we kissed. Outside the pub we walked without touching, just our shoulders brushing for a moment or two. I didn’t know what was going to happen, whether anything was going to happen at all – but when we turned to face each other it felt right. It was a soft kiss, a gentle kiss – dare I say it – a loving kiss. We didn’t snog, we didn’t grope. We just passed how much we cared about each other across in a simple brush of the lips. There was no official confirmation, but I think I might be able to count her as my girlfriend again. I want to certainly.

We’re meeting up again Sunday.

Tuesday, 17th of April

The Oxford Street dream again last night.
I’m stood about a hundred yards down from Oxford Circus – wearing only my dressing gown – when suddenly there’s this terrifying roar. It’s not an animal sound, but ‘roar’ is still the only word I can think of that really covers it. It’s a noise that seems to rumble its way from beneath the ground, shuddering the pavement and all the store fronts with a dreadful combination of an explosion and a growl. Then there’s a huge gust of wind, all the air being sucked away from us. More than that, it’s like all gravity has been pulled away. Myself and everyone else is hoisted from our feet, before being dropped roughly back to the ground.

My elbows smash into the asphalt as I land, but I try to gather my wits together quickly. Staggering to my feet I look around and see the bloke who’s my companion in this dream every single time. A man on crutches who has been hobbling up Oxford Street with a bright orange cast around his leg. Now he lies sprawled and screaming on the road. I charge towards him, wanting to speak to him, to find out what he has to say. Perhaps I want to see whether we have this dream together, if he is similarly conscious of having the same vision again and again.

On stumbling legs and a still shaking pavement, I make my way towards him. But just when I’m close enough to open my mouth, another roar comes – louder and more dreadful than the first – and it’s as if we’ve both vanished from existence.

Monday, 16th of April

And so today, after six months – periods of which I have felt truly desperate inside - I ended my therapy with Louise.
I think she was surprised at how calmly and succinctly I ended it. But then I think she was surprised at how confidently I walked into her room, sporting my new found aura of control. Hurriedly – as she could see my determination not to have a full session – she reached for my file and asked me about some of the problems I’ve had in the last months. The first thing she raised were my dreams, and I told her that I was calmer about those. Flicking through the pages she asked how I now felt about Alison, I said that she had gone but I was over it now. What about Julie? We’re still in touch, I told her, so we’ll have to see what happens there.

Louse stared up from her file clearly a little lost. I think she thought I was the kind of patient who would be there for twenty years, that I’d be around to fund her pension. And now I was walking those years of potential treatment out of the door.

I didn’t want to stay long as I knew that if she enquired, it wouldn’t take much pressing for me to tell her that the good feeling came from my realisation that what’s happening inside my head is a puzzle and I have to solve it. Of course she wouldn’t see that as rational. And I knew that when the questions came, the therapy session wouldn’t stop where I wanted it to - but instead go on as she made sure I appreciated all her concerns. So even though she was still burrowing through her notes of our sessions, I smiled her a big grin and stood up purposefully.

She had been a great help to me, I told her, and I greatly appreciated it. Then I shook her hand and left her room for good.

Whatever is going on in my head cannot be solved by simple therapy, it is something much bigger than that and a challenge I must face in my own way.

Sunday, 15th of April

Clerkenwell again last night, to see Elvina. Truly it’s hard to believe that it was this year I saw her for the first time. It feels like she’s been in my life for so long – I dream about her for god’s sake – that it’s difficult to conceive that if it wasn’t for a mate’s birthday party this January, I’d never have seen her at all.
She moves languidly and confidently onto the small stage; her hair shaped to a quiff, her lip curled up and sexiness sparkling in her eyes. Hers is the Elvis outfit by way of Victoria’s Secret. It’s white and rhinestoned, but she doesn’t wear flares, instead she shows herself off in hot-pants. On display is a pair of long, supple and toned thighs in sheer tights, leading up to a gorgeous, round behind. When she sticks out her bum it really is a thing of wonder. Around her midriff is a belt buckle with ‘TCB’ carved elegantly in gold, while stretching out above it is the Vegas large collar. Like Elvis’s version, this garment is low cut down the chest. Unlike Elvis’s version, what the audience is treated to is a magnificent, milky cleavage. It’s a phenomenal get up, and you can always tell those who’ve never seen her before. Their eyes bulge so far from their heads it’s like their having a coronary.

So Elvina is sexy, but also fantastically beautiful – her sharp cheekbones, pouting lips and wide brown eyes making her the most feminine and pretty Elvis.

Her appearance is stunning enough, but then she performs.

Last night she seemed determined to make the hearts of everyone there pump faster and faster. She started off slowly with ‘Always on My Mind’, purring out the song as she moved with tantalising precision across the stage, stretching herself into various incredibly sexy poses that she held for an almost indecent amount of time. The ballads came first, then the mid paced numbers ('The Wonder of You'; 'Heartbreak Hotel') where she claimed the front of the stage and took control – standing with her feet slightly apart and her head held high in such a powerful pose. She belted out the tunes seemingly knowing that she was the most important person in the room, the most important person in London. Then she got really fast and danced around the stage in a way I haven’t really seen before. ‘King Creole’ and ‘Viva Las Vegas’ boomed out with her legs kicking and her breasts jiggling. It was a phenomenal show, and at the end the crowd had to stop drooling to remember to clap.

I think it was the best performance I’ve ever seen her give. Strangely though the place wasn’t as busy as last week, and after the set she cut her way through the crowd back to her dressing room – a bouncer just at her shoulder to make sure that no pinching fingers reached out for her.

Adrenalin pumped through me as I knew I only had seconds, but I stood in front of her.

“Elvina,” I called.

She looked at me, her fact flat, not wanting to encourage any lunatic.

I talked quickly. “Hi. I’ve seen your show.”

“I know,” her eyebrow raised. Was that because she’s seen me in the crowd before, or just because I’m in the venue just after she’s just come off stage? Obviously the latter, of course she knows I’ve seen her show.

The seconds were ticking but I tried not to garble my words. “Do you ever Google yourself?”

The eyebrow raised again.

“You should do,” I told her. “Put in your name and ‘Clerkenwell’ and look at the blogs. Let me know what you think, I’m here a lot of Saturdays.”

And with that I let her go. She walked determinedly away without looking back. Clearly she thinks I’m odd, but if she reads this blog – and she understands it – then maybe, Elvina, we can have a conversation.

Saturday, 14th of April - addendum

I didn’t call her, but I did text Julie and apologised again for our last evening together and asked her how she was. It took her well over a day to reply, but finally she did – a quick text, just telling me that she was fine. She ended her message with the question mark of how I was (perhaps just to be polite, I don’t know). I’ve responded by telling her I’m okay, but wondering whether she’d like to have a coffee, just to chat. I’ve had nothing back yet. I don’t know if she’ll go for it or not.

Saturday, 14th of April

There was a brief moment of paranoia yesterday that Friday the 13^th was going to prove terminally unlucky. That for whatever reason it was the day on which everything I see in my head would turn to reality. I don’t know why I felt that (or why I felt it with such certainty over the course of the day) as I’m not generally superstitious, but yesterday it did seem as if doom was in the air.
Maybe it was the dream I had the night before. This was a new dream. I was stood by myself, in a void seemingly, and in front of me was an atom. I know it’s completely impossible to see an atom with the naked eye, but there it was was – infinitesimally small, though magnificently visible. It seemed to happen slowly, yet also incredibly fast; but I watched the atom fall under pressure, the cracks showing ever more clearly on its side, then – spectacularly – it split open. The next moment I was gone, suffused by a wave of energy.

I woke up clutching my sheets in my fists, having almost torn them away from the mattress. My sweat stung against my skin.

Thursday, 12th of April

A most gratifying review of my novel by the kind people at Spinetinglers: 

"Tell me about your devil..."

Hell's Secrets - Spinetinglers Review

Mark Anthony hates his life. He hates his job, he’s not overly keen on his flat and he’s not even sure he likes his friends anymore. Then out of the blue he receives an email that changes everything.

It sounds simple enough – all he has to do is take credit for a book that someone else has written. The only fly in the ointment is that the book was actually written by Giles White, a somewhat strange individual Mark knew from university. The two had a tense acquaintanceship in those days, which had ended with Giles spitting in Mark’s face and taking off into the night. Surely there had to be an ulterior motive for such an offer? Why, of all the people, in all world, did Giles want Mark to get the glory for his work?

Despite his better judgement Mark agrees to Giles’ offer and takes on the identity of M.J Anthony, author of Hell’s Secrets. To begin with everything goes swimmingly, the book is a massive hit, he bags himself a new girlfriend and he has movie producers practically beating down his door to buy the rights to his bestseller. And then the shit rather spectacularly hits the fan, as Mark’s life, and the lives of those closest to him begin to spiral out of control…

Hell’s Secrets had me hooked right from the get-go. The chapters are short and snappy, which is perfect for the tale being told, and helps to create the uneasy tension which is woven so brilliantly throughout the story. Giles White is so fabulously creepy that you can’t wait to get to bottom of what is driving him, and you can’t help but feel sorry for Mark, who seems to be descending further and further into madness with the turn of every page.

Hell’s Secrets is another wonderful offering from F.R Jameson, which firmly cements him as one of horror’s most exciting authors.

I’m of course very happy with that, and I feel like it could be the start of a good period for me.

Wednesay, 11th of April

I have to more closely examine what’s happening in my dreams. That’s why I’m trying to change things in them, that’s why I’m running towards the explosions now. I want to see what happens when I get there (if I get there) and through that find out what all these visions mean. Maybe it’s as simple as working out on a personal level why I am having these dreams, what’s going on inside my head. Although the suspicion remains that these dreams are related to the wider world. I am getting more and more convinced that this is not just about what’s happening inside my skull, but instead has a much wider impact. What is that? What does it mean?
For a long stretch this year I felt like I was lost, but now I have a mission.

And okay, each evening I do come home and feel lonely. It’s not good when the main things you think about in your life are you dreams and your blog. I was considering today that maybe I should ask Julie out for a coffee, apologise to her – is that a good idea?

Tuesday, 10th of April

Last night I had the dream where I was stood on my street. It’s a cold day (is the temperature something I’ve only started noticing in these dreams, or was it there before? We are heading into summer in the UK – or what passes as summer – so is the temperature in anyway significant?) and I feel the wind licking my skin. Before I can remember being naked in this dream – but now I look down and see I am in shorts and T-shirt. I'm almost dressed for a run.

This dream has burnt through my mind so many times now, that I know exactly which part of the sky the fireball will trail across. I am forearmed and ready. Slowly at first but rapidly picking up speed, I start to run to where that fireball should land. The streets are eerily quiet – I am the only person anywhere on the streets of South London, and running with a wild sense of purpose makes me seem doubly out of place.

I run fast, scarper, getting to the main road in Surrey Quays and pointing myself in the direction of The City. The Gherkin is ahead. But no matter how fast I go, I am not fast enough. Suddenly the sky is ripped apart by that familiar red streak – I see it nearer than it’s ever been before – then there’s a boom and everything vanishes around me.

Monday, 9th of April

So what about religion? Is that something which, on this of all weekends, could help me? No, I don’t think so. Both my parents are fundamentalist atheists, and so the way I was raised precludes me from reaching for the church. I just don’t see the appeal of it, I don’t see the reality of it. So even in this moment of crisis, I can’t fall back on it. Besides there is nothing in these dreams that makes me think of The Bible – even The Old Testament or apocalyptic Revelations stuff. No this is something different.
The more I think about it, the more I believe these dreams are a puzzle to be solved. I am dreaming of the world ending in so many different ways: meteors from the sky; nuclear explosions; creatures from beneath; a rampaging madness that tears apart humanity itself. I see an after world that is cold and dark, but there are survivors – so how does that relate to my other dreams? In those visions of destruction it all looks so final (certainly for me, I seem to be at the centre of all of them), so how could I – and other people as well – manage to survive?

No these dreams can’t all be literal, they can’t be straight premonitions. They are telling something else and I just have to work out what that is.

Sunday, 8th of April

To Clerkenwell to see Elvina last night. (What else did anyone expect me to do when in London by myself on a Saturday?)  I thought it might be quiet with the Bank Holiday and so many people being out of the city, but instead it was packed. Lots of eager eyed blokes who were already paid up members of her fan club, or had heard about her and were desperate to see what all the fuss was about. She didn’t disappoint, slinking onto stage, making sure everyone lingered over the length of her legs, the plump roundness of her bust and the lasciviousness of her pout. She was a cartoon cheesecake pin-up, surrounded by a pack of salivating wolves and loving every second. Through the show she blew kisses to the crowd, winked at us and treated us to some banter about how when she got out of her tight clothes, it was hard for her to put anything on again for awhile (you can imagine the reaction she got from that).
I was too far back to make any real connection, or for her to see me. As much as I enjoyed her show that was a shame as last night I felt like I could have spoken to her. When she comes off stage for a break she sometimes makes her way to the bar, and I thought I could have lurched over and just introduced myself. Told her I was a big fan and that I sometimes wrote about her, just to see what she said, how she reacted, whether she did know me. I didn’t care last night, I was feeling like I did when that mugger held a knife to my throat in January and I refused to give any money – I just didn’t worry about the consequences. The throng was too wound up though for her safely make her way through, but I’ll be back. I felt confident last night and I feel confident today. The thought has struck that the things inside my head are like a puzzle and it’s up to me to solve them. And I can solve them.

Saturday, 7th of April

The Surrey Quays dream last night. There I am again, standing outside of the shopping centre – the car park and various happy consumers in front of me – and I’m feeling that something below is about to rise up. There is a power beneath my feet, a force so incredible and endlessly malignant.  I don’t know what it is, but it’s there and moving horrifyingly to the surface. It is not an earthquake I am sensing. An earthquake (not that we ever have them in Britain anyway) is something natural, an event which happens in life. They are hardly benign, of course, but they don’t come with a sense of evil. Whatever this thing is there’s definite malice wrapped around it, like some Lovecroftian monster stirring from a long hibernation.
I felt cold in the dream last night, so very cold. Is that my fear manifesting itself, or does this things arrival herald a new coldness?

That lady with the baby is in front of me again in the dream. I see her each time. I’m sure I’ve also now seen her in real life. Did I dream about her before I saw her, or did I just insert her into my dream? I stare at her and try to work out whether she is cold, whether she can feel the same thing I can. It all happens so quickly, but I think that just before the ground cracks she pulls her jacket tighter to her neck and holds the baby closer. Maybe she feels this dreadful presence as well. Perhaps I am not alone.

Friday, 6th of April

No response from Julie.

No word from Alison yet either.

Maybe I should have used this Good Friday to go and see my family, get out of London and take a break. Instead I decided to stay here with all the thoughts and madness in my head. Yes it will keep me company, but it’s hardly ideal. The thing is I have no real plan for this Bank Holiday weekend in London, so at the moment I’m just going to drift through Easter.

Things I can possibly do:

1.      Call up one of my friends. I haven’t seen them that much over the last few weeks, (but that’s par of the course in a new relationship). This will be a good chance to see if anyone is about for a catch up.

2.      Go and see one of the various exhibitions around town – I hear Hockney is good.

3.      Buy myself a big fucking Easter egg for Sunday, be truly decadent.

4.      Go and see Elvina in Clerkenwell. Gaze at her in the spotlight as she does her stuff. I’m dreaming of her regularly now and would love to speak to her – but how weird would that be? I’m aware that I can’t approach her to tell her how great she looks in my dreams. I might as well just start openly masturbating in front of her.

I don’t know what I’m going to do, but still I haven’t put on my list:

5.       Go and see my family in South Wales. The trains are running – why don’t I?

The answer is, even if I am going to be bored and lonely, I don’t want to leave London, I just feel I have to be here.

Thursday, 5th of April

I’ve received a very positive review of my novel from the nice people at Spinetinglers (which I will post here when it’s published). At the moment it’s one of the few things in my life that I’m feeling positive about. There’s something odd in that as it’s a novel about the publication of a book which looks to be the central character’s salvation. But of course, that salvation proves ephemeral.

Maybe I shouldn’t rely solely on my novel’s existence for good feeling.

But please do buy a copy.

Wednesday, 4th of April

I was stood in The City again last night, rooted to the spot as all those hundreds of people raced towards me. It’s an odd sensation when they charge in my direction because undoubtedly I’m scared, but I also have an incredible and exhilarating feeling of calm. My heart is racing in my chest, yet I still feel so relaxed about what’s happening, open to whatever is going to take place. The thoughts race through my mind that I’m going to be trampled, ripped apart – sharp little fingernails tearing into my flesh and scattering my muscles from my bones. And yet even though these thoughts are there, even though they are absolutely terrifying – I am not bothered by them. Last night – like most nights before when I have this dream – I stand rooted to the spot with these thoughts muted, a pacific air having taken over me completely.
But last night I looked at the crowd and the first person I saw was Julie. Fury had twisted her face so that all prettiness had been ripped from it. The panic finally rose up inside me just as she slashed across my eyes.

Tuesday, 3rd of April

No response yet from Julie, but I did get a text from bloody Alison.
“I’m sorry to hear the news,” it said, “hope you’re bearing up. Alison. x”

How the bloody hell could she know? What is going on? My first impulse was to get in touch with Julie and find out who she had told and then work my way to Alison through that route, but I can’t help thinking that the subject of Alison is going to be a raw one between Julie and I at the moment (if and when we do speak again), so I can’t do that. But what else can it be?

Is she reading this blog?

Alison, if you’re out there, let me know.

Monday, 2nd of April

Well I can’t say it was my most productive session with Louise. Of course I told her my news straight off, almost blurted it out in fact – but then had to justify it. For much the same reason as I couldn’t adequately explain to Julie why I couldn’t see her anymore, so I couldn’t explain to Louise. I’ve not told either of them – these women I speak to more than any others – what has been going on in my head. So scared have I been of their disapproval, so annoyed that they didn’t understand and seemingly made no effort to understand, that I have blanked them both out of the important issues that bother my thoughts.
It of course begs the question, what the fuck is wrong with me? Why do I simply sit down and type into this blog, why don’t I reach out to anyone else around me? There are people who care for me (as well as the one person who is paid to care for me) – friends, family and a lover. Why do I persist on shutting them all out? Why do I instead sit here and type by myself, creating a monument to my madness?

So it wasn’t a happy encounter with Louise, and she clearly thought that when I couldn’t justify it that I should maybe reconsider my decision. That’s what she suggested.

I didn’t go that far, though I did text Julie and tell her once again I was sorry. So far I have had no reply.

Sunday, 1st of April

Well I broke up with Julie last night. It was a terrible and teary encounter in the corner of a Dutch Bar in the West End. She wanted to know why (of course she wanted to know why) and the worst thing of it was that I couldn’t really explain why. The simple truth is that because I’ve been shielding so many things that have gone on in my head from her, there was just no way I could adequately explain what I was feeling. To truly tell her I would have to rewrite everything that had gone on in the last couple of months – the last couple of, in the main, really happy months – to make her understand the madness inside my skull. As such I failed to give her anything near a decent explanation, and left her with the impression that I just wasn’t over Alison. That the reason it wasn’t fair for me to see her anymore was that thoughts of Alison were still too much in my mind. And maybe to a certain extent that’s true, but not in the way she imagined it. She just thought I was a shit who had been in love, and then led her on knowing I was still in love. But it isn’t like that at all, but there was no way to tell her what it really was.
Even more horrible was the fact that she ran off, she couldn’t bear to be with me anymore. She excused herself to the toilet, and I looked up and saw her charge to the exit of the pub. By the time I got near her again, she’d got in a taxi and was sailing away.

On the way home there were tears in my eyes as well. All I could think of was how happy we were at the start, how well suited. I loved that she made me feel so calm, so relaxed with her – she got me out of my head. But the problems were only shelved, they were never properly put away and so I was unable to ignore them forever. Really I should have confided in her more, made her understand – that’s why I was a shit, because she was my girlfriend and I couldn’t find a way to be truly honest with her.

I have problems clearly, many deep problems.

But she’s right. I’m also a shit.