The worst day of my life
I didn't scream. I was in too much pain to expend my energy on a scream. My face was contorted with pain and confusion. I listened out for a snap, the lottery was out on which limb would go first; both my legs and my arms were being bent into angles that would make a contortionist wince. And the pain. It was unbearable. I fought against it as best I could but it was an odd battle; I was completely alone.
Maybe fifteen years have passed since that night. There have actually been a few contenders in the meantime but its still right up there as the worst night of my life. I was ill. It'd been a year of sick certs and all kinds of medication. But those doctors are players of games. They're not really sure what they're doing and the game is pretending they do. I was a guinea pig in jeans. Every dose of meds had a side effect. Some were almost worse than the malady they purported to remedy. One cursed you with blurred vision, stripping you of books and TV, so leaving you with nothing but thoughts, a cruel joke really.
Another pill was supposed to release you from this blurry world but in exchange for this gift you must carry some more baggage; restlessness. I say restlessness, like I say stingy when referring to a bottle of vinegar poured over a gaping gash. It was a sickening restlesness. When you sat you had to stand and when you stood you had to walk and when you walked you wanted to sit again and when you sat again you'd just rock back and forth. You've seen it haven't you? That crazy armchair dance.
They placed another domino on the table, this time an injection, to try and counteract the restlessness. But this one had a side-effect too. They don't tell you that though. They don't want to scare you. As it only happens to rare individuals. I was such a winner. The dominoes were set in motion. I was home alone when the last one fell. I was in the attic which I'd converted to a music making den. My hand was the first to go, it started to bend forward at the wrist and I couldn't bend it back, then my whole arm twisted backward. My other arm had gone around my back and was doing its best to break itself. All my limbs started twisting and contorting. The battle began. I had to use all my strenght to stop my limbs from breaking themselves. It all happened so quickly. I'd collapsed onto the bed in a fight with myself.
After the initial shock, I dragged myself off the bed and somehow got down two flights of stairs, which isn't easy when you're busy trying to break all the bones you use to navigate a stairwell. I'd got to the phone and tried to hold the receiver in the nook of my elbow while dialing 999. I tried to ask for an ambulance but instead roared with pain. The receiver bounced onto the ground then dangled in the air as I collapsed beneath it. I could hear a lady on the other end. She could hear me too but eventually tired of the shouting and hung up.
After maybe ten minutes it began to let up. And then in no time at all the demon left me as quickly as it entered. My oldest (now very estranged) brother (that's another story), who for some reason was back living at home, came in the front door. I told him what had happened. The gears in his head ground to a halt. DOES NOT COMPUTE said eyes and he laughed as if I'd just told him a funny story.
I went back up to the batcave in the attic and tried to gather myself. Then my hand started twisting again. It was almost like it shaped itself into a snake-head, looked at me and said WE'RE BAA-ACK. Knowing what was in the post I didn't waste a second. I shouted IT'S STARTING AGAIN through the square hole in the floor. He ran up the stairs and was faced with the shocking image of Christie Brown's long lost brother writhing around the floor - then he followed instructions that I forced through gritted teeth.
Ten minutes later, the family doctor arrived, and I was never happier to see a large syringe come out of a bag. He performed his exorcism and the release was sweet. The next day, I changed medication again. A month later I decided to stop medication forever. Another month later, I eased myself back into the working world and society at large by assembling mobile phones at a local factory. Since the day I fought myself it's been onwards and upwards. Much better than I could have imagined back then. But when it comes to medication I'm still a skeptical old fucker. Remember kids, always read the label!
Labels: waffle
I went to the darklight screening of Dead Man's Shoes last weekend. Their was an exciting buzz in the air at the IFI. I don't go to half as much stuff like this as I'd like to. I really enjoy festivals of any kind - yet I think this is the only festival-like event I've managed to get to this year, pathetic. I've seen Dead Man's Shoes a couple of times before but it was great to see it in the IFI with an appreciative audience. There wasn't a single rustle of sweet packets nor any sounds from mobile phones. Paddy Considine was supposed to introduce the film but instead it was announced that he'd do a Q&A afterwards, which was a bit dissapointing as I just knew there'd be wanky drawma students asking wanky drawma questions.
