THE WAR I SURVIVED

It must have been a particularly close and loud explosion that caused my eyes to open. Staring blankly around I somehow knew I’d been curled up like this for quite some time. The surroundings were at once familiar yet completely alien and unrecognisable, more like a foxhole or an old bomb crater but certainly a place that had sustained and protected my body until now. A body that appeared to be in one piece with all fingers and toes present and correct, as a bonus they seemed to move in accordance with my will. That was reassuring.

Another explosion, screams, pain… any further status checks had to be postponed as the horror and panic surged again, overwhelming like a blanket of killer bees covering every exit and escape. Everywhere I put my mind resulted in a sting, a sniper’s bullet, the point of a sword, the tip of a spear, or the burning shrapnel of a mortar shell. If I moved I was dead. Dead tired.

How long had it been since the last meal? I couldn’t tell, how does one know these things? I somehow reached down into the whirlpool of sensations… but still no sign of anything resembling hunger. Who knows, perhaps my body doesn’t need food anymore. Perhaps I don’t need a body anymore. Perhaps I should do something, perhaps that’s possible. I’ll try and get to the window.

Eighty-four minutes later, pulling back the curtain made little difference to the amount of light in the room, apparently the Living Room. It was either night time or the smoking wreckage had obliterated the Sun yet shockingly the world was still there, the trees and buildings still standing, streetlights still twinkling like tethered stars, and if eyes squinted, there was movement from tiny vehicles. And yet for the last eighty-four minutes the battle had raged on and casualties had mounted, ground had been lost and reserves squandered. All I can think about is closing my eyes and the relief of not looking at anything at all. If only my eyelids were directly connected to the lungs I could close them tight and stop breathing. I feel so tired, so exhausted.

It must have been a particularly loud and close explosion that caused my eyes to open. Got to be quick, there’s only nano-seconds before the bombardment recommences and I’m not winning this; the situation is FUBAR. I’m going to need to call-in reinforcements and soon.

It must have been a particularly close and loud explosion that caused my eyes to focus on the noticeboard in the doctor’s waiting room: “TALK TO US” read the flyer with a squiggly MIND logo pinned to the board. I’m explaining all this to the G.P. whom I’ve never met before, in a bright cramped room almost as uncomfortable as the prison that I’m led to believe is my mind. Going through the motions of talking but it doesn’t sound like my voice and I can’t understand what is being said, feeling so fatigued it is taking all effort to keep my head above water. This amount of pain has not ceased for weeks and consumed every waking moment and every fleeting thought. Can you put me in touch with MIND… they say, ‘TALK TO US’, think I really need that right now”. The G.P. stopped writing the prescription and looked up, “sure, yes I’ll refer you to the Recovery College”. Our meeting was sealed with a shake of hands, things were about to CHANGE and a light had broken over the horizon when I next looked out of that window. Peace, thank you MIND.