I booked an appointment with Dr Dennis for tomorrow afternoon. I need something to help me pass the nights better. The homeopathic calmants that Verity put me onto are about as helpful as Smarties. I need sledgehammer blows in capsules, not extracts of Piss-the-Beds. I tried to schedule the rendez-vous for an exact hour and minute, but the secretary was having none of it. “Morning or afternoon, Mr Spencer?” she murmured, sounding utterly bored by the fuss people dying make. I don't like people calling me Mr Spencer, it makes me feel like I'm in the bank. “The afternoon” I said “I may be dead in the morning.”
After the doctor I phoned mum. I sat there picking the lint out my belly button as she babbled on about water retention, or worse, the opposite. I don't know why, but without fail, after 5 minutes of speaking to my mother I always need to empty my bowels. Today was no different. “Excuse me mum, I need a shit.” I interrupted before closing the phone dead. That's how every call since I left home at 18 has ended.
John's been visiting the blog again. I didn't want to mention it yesterday so as not to give him the satisfaction of having got to me. But he did get to me, it's been plaguing my every thought. Under post #16 he left a series of ten trailing comments culminating in a threat to cut my eyelids off! Of course it gets more worrying, but in a bizarre way I also took a pleasure from it... just knowing I am somewhere in his thoughts. I would much rather be abused and killed by him than ignored or forgotten. His silence would hurt me much more than his threats. I know that's a very selfish thought, but love is selfish. When it comes down to it, it's the most selfish thing in the world.