The Darkest Hour

Chapter 1-2

Unfortunately, the crying continued. And worse, I was waking up in the night, unable to fall back asleep. With sleep eluding me, I’d get up and check my emails, or go out to the studio and paint for a while, or tidy up. While I occasionally cried myself to sleep, the tears never came during those periods of wakefulness, in the dead of night. Once, I woke up with the crusted evidence of tears in my eyelashes. I know I hadn’t been crying before falling asleep, which could only mean I wasn’t even safe from this demon in my dreams.

I also became aware I was becoming forgetful. I’d walk into a room and forget what I’d gone in there for, or I’d be in the middle of a sentence and forget what I wanted to say.

“I must be going senile,” I’d say with a nervous laugh as I struggled frantically to regain my train of thought.

It was a habit of mine to have a glass of wine while I was painting. I also liked to have one with dinner, especially if I had friends over, or I was dining out. But the odd glass of wine was turning into the odd bottle of wine, and when I drank, the tears would flow like they were sourced by the Nile.

Craig called me one Friday evening and invited me to a party.

“Who’s going?” I asked, not because I was a snob, but because I wanted to know I’d feel comfortable with the crowd.

Craig rattled off a list of names, some of whom I recognised and others I either didn’t know or had temporarily forgotten.

“Actually, I can’t,” I lied. “I think I’m coming down with a cold.”

“Didn’t like the guest list?” asked Craig, who I sometimes felt knew me better than I knew myself.

“No, no,” I protested. “I really am coming down with a cold.” And to further convince him, I added, “I’ve got my exhibition coming up soon and I need to be well for that.”

Craig made a noise of acknowledgement. “If you’re sure,” he said. “Don’t say I didn’t invite you.”

I forced a laugh. “Don’t worry. I won’t.”

I hung up the phone and promptly burst into tears.

He didn’t try very hard. My thoughts were bullies. They wanted to wound me. They attacked with shocking viciousness. He can’t have wanted you to go too much. Probably just felt sorry for you. Look at what time he called. He left it to the last minute so you wouldn’t have time to get ready. And where are your other friends? They’ve all abandoned you. Got sick of you. Craig’s the only real friend you’ve got, but only because he pities you.

I went to the refrigerator, to a half-empty bottle of wine. I poured myself a glass and took a great gulp. I was about to put the bottle back when I had a better idea. I drank enough from the glass to accommodate whatever was left in the bottle. I re-filled my glass, put the bottle in the rubbish bin, and returned to the lounge room.

My tears finally ran dry, although they were never far away. I was left snivelling, mid-way between one bout of crying and another. I must have looked a mess. I knew my eyes would be red-rimmed. My nose was blocked with snot. I sniffed back, but that blocked it up even more. There was probably snot on my top lip and silvery smears on my face where the tears were drying. I felt like a real prize specimen of humankind.

I picked up the phone and dialled my friend John’s number. It was busy. I hung up and then dialled my friend Jenny’s number. It rang out. I called Mark, a friend I’d known since art college. I got the answering machine, but didn’t leave a message. I slammed the phone down. More tears. Everybody’s out there having fun. The thought bullies were back. None of them bothered to call you. You’re a loser. Why would they call you? They’ve all got better friends, more interesting friends, to have fun with. You were only ever a last resort friend anyway. What do you expect?

I was pathetic. Childish and pathetic. I knew it, but I didn’t feel as though I had any control over my thoughts and feelings. They materialised and I let them have their way. I knew they were nonsense thoughts, stupid, idiotic, self-pitying thoughts, but knowing that didn’t stop them from invading my mind.

After enduring the misery for as long as I could bear, I made the decision I wasn’t going to tolerate it anymore. This creature, this demon, inhabiting my mind wasn’t me. It was an interloper. A trespasser. I wanted to be rid of it and have my old self returned.

Early the following morning, I dialled the number of my doctor and made an appointment for the forthcoming Friday. It was the earliest appointment I could get and it couldn’t come soon enough.