Raymond's meltdown

Another extract from my book - tell me what you think

regards,
Joe

Chapter 2 – Meltdown

12 months ago.

Raymond Figg stirred half an hour before his alarm was due to sound. He remained in bed stuck in that half-world between dream and consciousness, not able to return to a peaceful sleep and not willing to come fully to his senses. Before long, images and thoughts of the day ahead began to knock at the door of his mind with a ferocity that demanded they be let in: meetings, angry customers, stressed co-workers and managers needing answers ‘pronto’.

He propped himself up on his elbow and groggily pulled the sheets away from his body before moving into a seated position on the edge of the bed; he realised he still felt very tired. The day through his window was gloomy and overcast, all of which seemed to add to Raymond’s lack of motivation. He thought about returning his head to the pillow, pulling the sheets back up to his chin and closing his eyes; even if he couldn’t sleep, he could rest.

Raymond reached over to the bedside table to grab his PDA, yawning repeatedly as he flipped it open and retrieved the stylus. Part of him hoped that checking his diary would provide the jolt he needed to get himself going but in reality, checking his diary only heightened his level of disinterest.

He let out a sigh of frustration. Being a team leader in a call centre had its advantages, he got to work closely with other people, and sometimes he even felt like he made a difference in their lives. On top of that, the money was good; the company share plan a bonus, nice office buildings, superannuation and free health. I should count myself lucky, he thought as he summoned the energy to push himself up off of the bed.

He stood and swayed on the spot for a few seconds while he waited for his body to adjust to the pull of gravity. Once he felt steady on his feet, he shuffled slowly from the bedroom to the bathroom, yawning again as he lifted the toilet seat and emptied his bladder. An image of himself as a boy flashed in his mind – he was urinating off of the pier, his father laughing, telling the young Raymond he was about to kill all the fish. He shook his head in an effort to clear it.

Strange. Memories of past days seemed to be visiting him more and more frequently in recent times. Wisps of disconnected images that lacked clear form; a mist of faces and places that always left him with an uncomfortable sense of melancholy. These were interspersed with images of times present, igniting in his mind like rapid-fire flashes from a camera’s bulb, illuminating brilliantly for a split second before disappearing an instant later; their phosphorescent wake leaving Raymond feeling anxious. Making him feel out of control: did I send that email, was I fair to the staff when I asked them to work after-hours?

Raymond walked over to the shower and drew back the curtain. He turned on the taps and stretched as he waited for the water pressure to improve, and finally, after seemingly hundreds of corrective adjustments, he stepped under the shower’s flow. The feeling of water cascading down his face elicited a memory of himself as a child swimming in the shallows of the beach where his family holidayed during the summer. The memory was so strong he could almost taste salt on the shower water as it passed over his lips.

Raymond shook his head trying valiantly to clear it. Why am I remembering this stuff? He knew the recollection to be a harbinger of mixed emotions and he was in no mood to deal with them. I haven’t got time for this, he thought and began furiously and systematically lathering and rinsing. His demeanour not helped by a lava-hot spurt of water that scorched his chest, causing him to slip as he jerked sideways to escape the heat.

He turned off the fickle water supply, exited the shower and yanked a towel from the towel rack, vigorously moving it over his body. The pit of stomach broiling with the emotions that he’d tried so hard to ignore; each one churning the mixture in rebellion, leaving Raymond in a state of agitation.

He wrapped the towel around his torso and retrieved his foam and blade from the cupboard underneath the hand basin. A quick swipe of the mirror with his other hand removed enough of the mist for him to see a foggy reflection. Raymond paused, examining his image in the mirror; it felt as though someone else was staring back at him, a momentary feeling of disconnection that was so disconcerting he had to look away. He stared down at the basin as he applied the foam to his face and neck. When he looked up once again, he felt a sense of relief - the reflection appeared with a generous covering of foam.

After shaving, he headed back to his bedroom. Normally, he would go straight to the closet and select his clothes for the day ahead. Instead, he felt light-headed, like he had risen from a seated position too quickly; he felt the onset of something like nausea. The feeling came on suddenly. The emotions fighting for their head in the pit of stomach ceased their agitation as they were smothered by a cold blanket of worry, overpowered by the more powerful and primal emotions of confusion and fear. Instead of selecting his clothes, he headed for the bed where he sat on its edge to wait for whatever it was that was making him feel strange to go away.

Couldn’t have been something I ate, I haven’t eaten anything yet, he thought. Raymond focused on the walls so as to give his eyes a balance-point and noticed the walls in a way he had never noticed them before. Are they real? he thought, and then tried to shake the thought out of his head. He took another look at the walls, now they seemed animate, capable of moving. He felt his heart quicken. He felt heat rush to his face; he felt his sphincter tighten. He felt as though he was about to collapse. What the hell is going on?

This was not a simple bout of light-headedness and the realisation made Raymond feel scared in the same way he had felt scared when he first saw his father collapse; the image of which now flickered in his mind, unformed and disjointed, like poor reception on a TV screen. Was this how it started for dad?

He desperately looked around the room - the alarm clock, the wardrobe, the posters and paintings. All of them seemed ethereal. His breathing began to shorten; the tendrils of a cold sweat climbed from his thighs, up his spine and over his crown to form beads on his forehead.

He reached over to the bedside table and quickly touched the copy of ‘Harry Potter’ to make sure it was real. His breathing continued to shorten to the point where he could feel his throat tighten and his chest heave, he felt as though he was about to empty his bladder. What is happening to me?

He wanted to get up off the bed but the floor seemed insubstantial, incapable of supporting his weight. He felt trapped. One step from the bed would mean falling into an unknown abyss. How am I going to get to the phone? He felt a steel collar clamp around his windpipe; he felt his heart pounding against his ribcage threatening to beat its way out of his chest. What’s wrong with me!!!

He felt the need to run but his feet where rooted to the floor. He began to hyperventilate. His brain went blank; his body flooding with adrenalin. He felt like his limbs were charged with electricity. He leapt off the bed and charged down the hallway to his study, wheezing loudly as he tried to suck oxygen into his lungs. He burst through the door and spotted the mobile phone resting in its charging cradle. He snatched at it, knocking the charger and phone to the floor underneath his desk. He fell on hands and knees, trying desperately to locate the phone that had bounced into a jungle of cables, adaptors and power boards. When he did sight the elusive object, his arm flashed out at it like a striking cobra, his hand clutching at cables, missing the target several times before finally getting a firm grip on the phone. His fingers shook violently as he flipped it open, his chest continued to heave as his lungs desperately sought air. I don’t want to die, he said to himself as he struggled to focus, as he struggled to aim for the three numbers that would dial “Emergency”.

My place

My Balcony

My Sunset

My friends

So how did I get over not feeling like writing - I spent time on my balcony staring out to sea, daydreaming; then I watched the sunset and wondered what the captain's boat would look like if it sailed past me, all the while I listened to opera, namely the "flower duet" from Lakme. And then my friends took me out (me in the turtleneck) and we drank Butterscotch Schnapps, danced and had some fun...too much fun perhaps, because I woke with a very sore head...

BUT my spirit was soaring.

Moods

Hi everyone,

Well after a frenetic start to writing the manuscript - 7 chapters boom boom boom - I have done the writer's equivalent of a hamstring injury.

I am struggling to get myself to the keyboard to continue exploring the incredible lives of Raymond and Captain Angus. Some of it has been forced on me, in that I have had to hold the narrative while I research some of the more technical details of the story - like the boat. My vision of Captain Angus's boat is that of an old wooden schooner. I have had to undertake a lot of research to get the terminology, sailing lore and stuff like rigging, dimensions, construction material and so on down pat. I have even visited many docks to try to find a model upon which I can base my descriptions. Although the boat is not a major part of the story, I feel I need to paint the picture accurately if I am to make the reader's experience a believable one.

I have also had to refresh my knowledge of Scottish folktales, common language and geography so I can be true to Captain Angus's background. I have used many friends and associates to check my interpretations as well as devouring volumes on Scotland and its people (I have visited myself but it was a while ago now. I fell in love with the place and maybe that's the reason for Captain Angus's background).

So anyway, all of this has distracted me from the lives of Raymond and the Captain, a necessary distraction though. The upside is I have much more landscape information from which to draw upon to add to the tapestry of the story. The downside is I now find it difficult to steel myself for the challenge of reentering into the Captain and Raymond's lives and tackling the enormous challenges that I know they are both facing.

So, in a nutshell, I am looking for every excuse possible to ignore Raymond and the Captain at the moment: beautiful day so I'll go for a walk, do my tax return, clean the house....I've even set up a group for writers in Facebook called "Writer's Almanac" just so I feel like I'm doing something productive while I steer clear of Raymond and Captain Angus.

And, everything seems to be magnified a thousand times over. Jack the cat, whom I love very dearly is dying, he is not in pain but he is not long for this world. He is not even my cat but has been a big part of my life - am I being overly sensitive here? The news depresses me so I don't watch it anymore. I watched a documentary on a group of people, volunteers, that look after orphaned elephants. I watched a baby elephant trying to get it's dead mother to stand up and the vision tore me in two.

So I need to get back my inspiration and courage to tackle what I know I must, and that is the story of Raymond and his battle with anxiety and depression, his battle to find happiness; and Captain Angus's struggle to fulfil his last promise to his beloved wife. The story of the unlikely friendship and bond that these two men strike up, and the beauty of hope, love and faith.

I don't have writer's block, I know what I need to do. I just need a little push to get back into the zone. If anyone has any good tips on how I can get back in the zone, I would love to hear from you. Usually watching an inspirational movie, or listening to music does it for me, but not this time. Maybe I need to get horribly drunk...hmmm maybe not.

Joe.

What is the "glue" that binds?

Hi,

I hope everyone is doing well. I have received many positive comments about the poem by Zephyr which is great. Some readers were moved to tears which is testimony to the power of the writing.

I have discovered through many and varied discussions with Captain Angus that he has had a wonderful life with his soulmate, lover and wife. But she is gone and all he has are his memories of her and their love. He is on the verge of giving up on his last quest, and joining her in the hereafter, he misses her that much. I wonder what it is that makes two people stay together for a lifetime? What is the glue? Is it one thing or many?

I wonder what you think?

A lot of people have stayed together for their kids, because their is no better option, because of threats of violence, because of the stigma of divorce, because of money. Occasionally though, we have all met couples who we just know are genuinely happy, who were meant to be together. You see it in the way they look at each other, there is a glow and energy about them. Couples whose love is so strong that when one passes away, the other dies as well or simply becomes lost. What is this glue that keeps a couple together so that they become one, and they are happy?

What does it mean to love another human being so deeply that the thought of ever being with someone else is never entertained? Is this a natural state or do we give up something of ourselves when we love with this intensity?

Does love need to be sowed, planted and watered like a field of barley so the harvest can be continually reaped? I have heard men brag about serenading their wives, on a monthly basis, with guitars while watching sunsets. I have seen their partners swoon as the tale of the serenading is told. I have seen onlookers wonder why their partners do not do the same. And I have seen the serenading couple separate a year later. And yet I have seen couples who show very little in the form of public intimacy that have remained together and happy for a lifetime. So what is this glue? Is it practical and logistical, is it the physical, the spiritual, or is it undefinable? What is the glue that holds a couple together, forever?

Captain Angus has given me his answers, I wonder what you think.

regards,
Joe.