Norfolk trundles past the window – a rumbling combine harvester, a tractor pulling a trailer, a car towing a caravan. East Sussex, just another memory stuffed into a box. I’m back home, trying to lose myself in a cold beer, deciding where I can run away next, but a young couple walking their dog have disturbed a memory deep in my subconscious – a fractured image of another time, another life. Something inside me snaps…an event I feared would happen but never did, that I tried to bury in a flurry of ritualistic compulsions a very long time ago. I imagine a revolver aimed at the back of my head – the crow’s feathers curl around the trigger and…
BOOM! My limbs feel heavy, the chemical elements in my bones reconstructing, transformed to base metal, stomach spoiled and tight, curdling like it’s full of milk and sugar. My skin is hot, perspiration trickling from my scalp, feels like someone’s poured a bag of sand into a hole in my skull. I want to gulp down a glass of cold water but my energy has started to sap, too lethargic to drag myself to the kitchen sink.
“Just don’t think about it. It’ll go away…” says a hazy figure from my past. It’s Uncle Jack, my former colleague from the factories.
But it doesn’t go away does it – it hasn’t yet anyway. I’m still obsessing about it. Still slowly sinking into the sand.
The past is a jigsaw puzzle. OCD stomps onto the pieces, smashing them into all the wrong places – anything could have happened! Was it this or was it that instead? I’m confused and shaking, trying to empty my head from six- year-old ruminations. Whatever the truth was, my mind has already decided that it’s fatal.
A man on TV is bidding on a house at an auction. I’m feeling queasy as the gavel falls and the property is sold. I’m in the room but miles away, and prepare my lunch with that familiar tightness in my belly. Go to bed regurgitating events from all those years ago. Wake up waiting for the horn of the rhinoceros to pierce the horizon – a stampede of OCD and other animals spewing dust in their trail like cartoon juggernauts galloping across a plain. No escape, just a few seconds before the realisation hits. THWACK! I’m back on the sofa, pondering, contemplating, constantly f**king thinking.
Shopping for groceries now. Head looking down at the tiled floor, a burning sensation in my stomach like I’ve swallowed a shot of mustard.
Am I going to die tomorrow…?
What if my greatest fears come true…?
What if this happens, or that happens…?
“It’ll ruin your life, that’s what!” screams Crow.
You’ve already ruined it!
I imagine a heavy axe cutting me in half and half again; picture putting my fists through the freezer doors; envision a bullet blowing the back of my head off in aisle three, splattering the oven chips with bits of skull and brain. The Crimson Knight rears his stead in the corridors of my mind, Crow lands on top of my head and pecks at my scalp. “You’ve got liver disease, dementia, smallpox, and bubonic plague. Little One is leaving you for the milkman or maybe the man who collects trolleys in the supermarket car park. Everybody you love is going to die next week, BECAUSE YOU’RE GOING TO KILL THEM!” It’s an overdose of fantastic, horrific possibilities.
Over my shoulder, a middle-aged woman asks if she can grab a box of cornflakes. Moving out of the way my skin prickles like it’s burning under a noon sun. It was six years ago! I didn’t know what happened then, what chance have I got now?
“I’m sorry,” I say to the woman. “I was miles away.”
“Just don’t think about it,” repeats Uncle Jack, sipping coffee from a plastic cup.
Easy for him to say. I fantasise dragging him out from my head, spewing my thoughts into his face like a scene from The Exorcist. Let’s see how easy YOU deal with it! Imagine if you broke your arm and I said, “Toughen up, just don’t think about it!” And don’t bother saying that it’s only OCD. Tell that to the girl pulling out her hair, or the boy slicing lines into his skin with a razor blade.
And to think I’m so much better than I was – than I’ve ever been…
A city burns in black flames as I crawl into bed.
Let’s hope tomorrow will be a better day.
Crow smirks on my pillow and tells me that he doubts that very much.
I close my eyes and travel back in time six years…