Writer's Notebook

Doubt is a strange thing. One moment you're on cloud nine and then out of the blue it hits you. And once it has you in its grips, it never lets you go. Looking back I still wonder what it was that began it all. But to be perfectly honest I can't remember much about it. There was certainly no outward reason for me to sink into the depths of despair as I did. I'd just got engaged to the most wonderful girl. I had a job and I enjoyed an adopted home in which I had found true friends for the first time in my life. Then one day I woke up and knew it was all too good to be true. Good things didn't happen to people like me. I'd had my bit of luck and I'd enjoyed it. But now it was over and I had to get out before it all turned sour on me. That was the one certainty which bolstered me that Wednesday morning, as I closed the door to my flat, turned the key and stepped out onto the street. I had nowhere in particular to go. My letter of resignation, hastily scribbled out after breakfast was in my pocket, but I knew I would never be able to face up to those who had placed so much trust in me. I'd slip the letter into the centre's box and quietly make my way down the railway line to the next village. From there it would be easy slip into the train and begin my journey back into oblivion. And three days later I woke up in hospital and didn't have a clue how I had got here.

The analysts had a difficult time figuring out what was going on inside my head. I had at least two sessions most days and sometimes more. I remember thinking these sessions would have been more inspiring had the therapy room walls been more cheerful than the drab medicinal white which stared at me from all sides. I cannot say any of these sessions did me much good. The doctors tried their best to show me life was worthwhile, that my life was worthwhile but I was not convinced. If the truth be told, their hands were tied by their own system which did not allow them to administer the one remedy I needed most - my friends. And their absence - I was not aware at the time that it was an involuntary absence - only served to feed my doubts. Nothing surprised me any more. Gensdouce had taken me up like a long lost friend upon my arrival there. But now that I was gone, they had forgotten me like a child discards his favourite toy in search of other pursuits. Images of Puff and little Jackie Paper playing together often flashed themselves upon my mind and Jackie alternatively took on the features of Thérèse, Morgana, Jean and Annie. On one night even Puff's aspect underwent a change and looking uncannily like Javert Demille. Occasionally, Guillaume was allowed in to see me. But never for more than five minutes at a time and he was forbidden to talk about anyone else I knew.

I don't know if any of this is making sense. I was pumped with so many different medicines in hospital that even now it's a struggle to think straight. And as I'm beginning to get dizzy with all this writing, I guess you'll have to wait for more.