Raymond Figg

Again,

thanks for the feedback and comments from Shannon, Kisatrtle and Rocky.

I was just wondering if you guys, or anyone else who stumbles upon my rantings, knows of any good tools or applications that I should put on the blog. My main aim is to be able to communicate easily with people who view my blog and highlight comments from contributors as a thank-you for their effort. I want people to contribute to the development of this story and I want to make it as easy as possible.

Back to Raymond Figg. Rocky has asked about the root cause of his breakdown.

I am not entirely sure yet myself. Raymond has been with me now for a few days and like meeting a new friend, slowly I am learning more and more and where once he was like the silhouette of a stranger passing by me on a foggy night, I can now see him with increasing clarity, his physical features at least.

I make him to be in his early 30's and attractive not in your archetypal square-jawed, tall dark and handsome way, but in a boyish way. You can still see the boy in his face and eyes. About 5f10, with curly brown hair and soft eyes.

In my mind's eye his sits with me on a beach and we are staring out over the water towards a sunset. I wonder why he chose to bring me here. Off to our left I see a pier and there I see "The Selkie" with Captain Angus sitting on its deck. I turn my mind's eye back to Raymond; he seems pensive and his face is downcast. I wonder if it has always been this way. I think about what question to ask him first but he beats me to the punch:

"What's happened to me?" he asks himself more than me. "I used to be happy. Great job managing a team in a call-centre. Great girl. Great friends. Great life." He picks up a shell and casts it towards the water. "I was the life of the party, full of energy, looked forward always." He turns to face me. "I had dreams, Joe," he says. "I believed I could do great things. The world was full of magic and opportunities..." he turns away again and picks up another shell which he throws with venom into the water. "Now my life's gone to crap and I don't know why." He shakes his head. "What happened to the old Raymond Figg. I want him back. Now."

I can't help but feel for Raymond. There are a thousand questions I want to ask but this will take time, I need to go slowly and ask the right questions as you would with anyone in pain whom you hope will become a friend. Instinct tells me the questions can wait and it is more important to listen.

"12 months ago," he continues. "Out of nowhere. I wake up feeling a bit funny. I had a lot on at work. I try to get ready but this funny feeling doesn't go away. I feel light-headed, like I've eaten something spoiled. I sit down on my bed and I start to think the walls aren't real. Can you believe it? I'm sitting on my bed looking at the walls thinking, my goodness are they real and then I start to think the same about the floor, I feel like it's insubstantial, incapable of supporting my weight, that If I step onto it I am going to fall into some abyss. My heart starts to pound trying to force it's way out of my ribcage, there's a steel collar around my throat and I'm finding it hard to breathe, I feel like I'm going to soil myself, a cold sweat forms on my forehead. I want to get to the phone but I'm scared of getting off my bed...I feel like I'm going to die."

I nod.
He stands and walks to the water's edge; he is facing away from me looking out to sea. "Where did this come from? Why?" He turns back to me. "I'm 32 and I had to call an ambulance. And there was nothing wrong with me. Panic attack the doctor's said. See your mental health professional. I AM NOT CRAZY!"

He walks back and resumes his seat. "Ever since that day I've changed. Every little spike in my body and I think Oh Oh here we go again. I check my pulse every day. I check for hospital locations when I go out just in case...." He pauses. "Does this sound like a normal 32 year old to you?"

I'm not sure if he wants me to answer so I remain silent.

"Well?" he asks.
"Have you sought help, Ray?" I ask.
"Mental health professionals?"
"Yes."
"No. I'll get through this. I'm no quitter. I've done some research on the net. Read the forums. I've learned how to control the panic. I'll find myself again. This is just a rough patch."
"You need to talk to people," I say.
"I'm talking to you."
"Not just me. What about your friends? Family?"
"I don't see my friends much anymore."
"Why?" I ask but he doesn't answer. "What about your family?"

Raymond gets up again and stares at the pier 200 metres to our left. "My father used to take me there when I was little," he says. "Loved boats, he did. We were going to buy our own boat one day, dad and I. There was an old boat at that pier, one that dad used to get me to draw when I was little, so we could build it when I got old enough."

Raymond turns back to face me, there are tears in his eyes. "My dad used to say, 'Imagine the adventures, son. You and me. The captain and his mate.'" He kicks the sand and scoffs. "All gone," he says.
"The Boat?" I ask.
"The Boat. Our Adventures. My dad."

Before I have a chance to say anything, he leaves me. And I am left with a 1000 more questions.