47 Random Fragments of Unauthorised Hope and Despair


HED had it before, of course. That feeling that everything he did was an evasion, a replacement for real life - whatever that might be.

This time it was much stronger, though. Buying a record, watching a film, eagerly logging onto a site to find some morsel of football gossip - day to day stuff but suddenly so pointless, a wheel of repetition without purpose, insight or fulfillment.

This feeling was always accompanied by a wave of depression and in the past he must have assumed a certain cause and effect. He was at a low ebb and just had to bear with it, stay afloat, until the darkness lifted and he could see clearly and contentedly again.

This time was different. This time the disappearance was less a brightening than a fading.

With horrible clarity he realised that the evaluation of his life as superficial and empty was not an aberration brought about by some minor kind of temporary mental illness, but a fleeting vision of the truth, normally quickly obscured by the distractions of routine and mundanity.

This time, however, he had not been fooled, had not pulled the wool over his own eyes to protect his sanity.

The depression was replaced by bewilderment. What now?