'i know i'm dying.  like an old man nearing the end, i know it's coming.  i'm just waiting for that day'

not my little boy, my baby.  my career, money, house, belongings and my car - take anything, take everything.  but not my little prince.

in my new country i married and fathered two beautiful daughters and a son who mean everything to me.  my wife's love for me following those evil days is in total contrast to the world i've come to know.

although it doesn't ease the second kind of loneliness, a separation immeasurable by distance.  a feeling of total disconnection from the real world.  parallel yet never interacting.

not that i wish to rejoin society as i have nothing to say to you, i couldn't explain and you wouldn't understand.

my memories of life are simply meaningless now.  like a dream, i remember them but don't feel them.  if i find myself fondly recalling the past i bury my head in my hands and just want to peel my face off.

'there are dreams, nightmares and then ssri daemons.  it is said that when you die in a dream, you actually die in real life.  then i have died a thousand times, bore witness to deaths, murdered many more, killed infants, committed incest, raped babies and i could go on.  i awake bathed in sweat, having fell a few more rungs down the ladder.  i then have a fight on my hands'

not one person remained a close friend throughout this ordeal and i have none now.  as a rule i avoid making new friendships and, to be honest, i don't actually give a fuck.

curiously, with regards to friends, my mind isn't plagued by those i assumed were nearest and dearest but of those who were close enough to count.  for instance, my work colleagues and parents of my now ex-partner.  these weren't just 'faces' but people i socialised, dined and shared holidays with.  we'd meet their families and stay over at each others homes.

now it's as if i never existed.  friendships were seemingly a charade.  it makes me want to puke.

'closure (or, one of these days i'm going to cut you in to little pieces)' 

it's an important part of recovery to take responsibility for one's disorder, for only i can do anything to change it.

yet i'm bitter and angry at those i feel share fault.  it has awoken the killer inside me.

these people perhaps meant no personal harm by their lack of understanding, foresight and courage to speak up/shut up.  although for all their stupidity, they destroyed a soul and drastically altered the lives of those who surrounded me.

for some, i'm sure, the fear of some dire consequence keeps them in line and from committing evil.  although i now find myself free of such constraint.  i want to cut the hands off of all those who share responsibility for the skeletal life i now lead.

obviously a doctor would describe this as further proof of mental illness (although what other reaction can be expected from someone who has suffered such loss?), prescribe suitable medication resulting in a zombie-like state and then be set free to rejoin the machine.

the only depression i consider myself suffering from is apathy.  total apathy, as if i care for nothing and no one.

everyone has dreams, wishes, ambitions and hopes - regardless of how small they may be.  not i, just leave me alone.

the little things i miss greatly.  the newspaper and a beer in a quiet pub, favourite restaurants, my suits and ties, the weekly boys night out and everything else you never gave a second thought to.

i used to do stuff.  opinion valued.  advice drawn.  humour sought.  company encouraged.  a little sparkle in my eye.

not anymore.  the spirit has gone, only the body remains.

'a serious cancer may have blessed me with some inner courage, strength to succeed or to put my final things in order.  anxiety disorder leaves you with nothing.  it rapes you of everything that makes you a person and then spits out the empty rotten carcass for others to scavenge'

one day my life will have to end of my own accord, i see no other alternative.  i can't work, not eligible for a pension and unable to draw any social benefits.

my life will continue aimlessly until my wife comes to her senses and releases me back to the cruel world.

i wish to recede, disappear from view, until only the blurred outline remains.  maybe life was forever that way.

there is nothing you can say and nothing you can do to alter this course.  take a look and then walk away.

one year is all it took for this world to mean absolutely nothing to me, nor me to it..