Euphoria

She composed odes to this newly acquired and unfamiliar euphoria.  She was a whirlwind rushing from one task to another.  Her senses were heightened, her wit quickened.  But the nights were endless.  In the darkest hours anxiety gripped her in its beak.  There was a bright light shining into her eyes.  It dazzled her like the headlights of a car on a dark country lane.  It would not permit her to sleep.  She could not escape from its clutches.

I cannot sleep even though my limbs are heavy with exhaustion.  I am taking thirty zopiclone a day and I’m still here.  My tolerance must be sky high. Maybe I should haver have left hospital.  Maybe I should stay there forever. The world is a monstrous place.

I went up onto the roof of the flats. I climbed out onto the ledge. I could feel the cold roughness of the bricks beneath my feet. But I couldn’t do it. I saw myself falling, falling, falling. Then I imagined my neck breaking and my spine snapping and I stepped back, berating myself for my cowardice. I just want to get out of this body. I want to be incorporeal. But there must be easier ways that don’t entail the risk of being permanently confined to a wheelchair.

Tags: art, creative writing, extract, hypomania, novel, third person