The Hours

Still no call or letter from Transworld, and the shortlist will be released on Bookseller.com on the 15th- clearly I have failed to either win the contract or get onto the shortlist. Feeling pretty glum about it, still rather depressed, hiding it well but feeling much better than before, that being said.

Popping Xanax like tic-tacs. What's a guy to do? I limit myself to my given prescription of three pills a day. I figure that's being extravagant enough. I don't want to get addicted to benzodiazepines again. Talk about torture. I wish these drugs weren't necessary. Why so addictive? I'm incredibly tense and highly strung when I don't take them, unbearably on edge. Sweet, soothing, calming Xanax; bliss when I do take it.

I find I need two in the morning just to force myself out the front door. Otherwise I'd be edgy and anxious, paranoid beyond reason. I guess this is where the Lithium kicks in. The cure for my mad self. I don't want to end up like my biological mother - or a tragic suicide like my grandmother. Spare me the madness. But the desperation is there, the moments of despair, all-engulfing loneliness - total and complete, even when I'm not alone it seems I'm still behind a pane of glass, unreachable; removed; untouchable.

Always the intensity, always that barrier between the whole living, breathing world and I. Always, the pane of glass, the moments of impulse and urge - the hours. Always, the hours.