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.