10
I dream that I’m running. I don’t know where, but I am running. The freedom’s the first thing I feel. Then the motion. There’s no jarring as my feet hit the ground, no jostling of my body as it accommodates every stride, no burning in my throat and lungs as I gulp in air. My body’s light but strong, an engine that has neither known effort nor duress. I am one with every motion. My heart may be pumping euphoria into every cell. I could be made just for this. Nothing else matters. The world whizzes by, streams of empty landscape that could exist just for me, just for me…
09
I lay in bed, my partner sleeping peacefully besides me. She’s never had any problems getting to sleep. I envy that easiness, that matter-of-factness about her going to bed. She feels no dread. She knows bed means sleep. It’s not something I’ve enjoyed my adult life – but especially now. The tiredness is there. The tiredness is excruciating, weighted in every muscle, heavy in my eyes, and clogged in my head. The tiredness should bully me into sleep. But whatever that last checkpoint is, I never make it. This is sixteen years ago. I’ve ditched Aropax – too abruptly, I learn retrospectively; and following bad medical advice from a psychiatrist…