In The Noonday Demon, one woman said it is impossible to have dreams and be creative when on pills. How true. I vaguely recall the last dream I had. A mongrel sat on the top of my head. Other than that, nothing. When there are no dreams I feel numb. When there are nightmares I feel frightened. But numbness is a good thing to feel. At least it offers stability, which is more than what I can ask for in these days. On my wrist the scars are fading, slowly. I look at them and wonder just how I could have done it – and I maintain, I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me at all. It was caused by my hand, but that’s it. It happened to me – I didn’t do it. I have three pills left – a dangerous situation. In my mind I manoeuvred – god it took me five minutes just to type that fucking word i must be dyslexic or depressed did i spell it correctly? – schedules to permit an opening so I could run off to the hospital for more. Surely you can pick them up? I hear the doctor saying, gently. Or get someone to pick them up for you? I think she has never been depressed. Did she think I’d submit my mother to this, this perversion? Besides in my sobbing and spiralling that night I couldn’t even remember where I placed my prescription – my precious half a prescription of pills! I searched the sleeves of my wallet but it wasn’t there. And for the life of god I cannot remember. Certain faculties are so lost to me it is a miracle I function the way I function, that is, amazingly organised, at work. In bed I hold on to The Noonday Demon, which calms me at night. Solomon is wise, compassionate and lyrical in his writing – every word he writes is truth. Of the pills, he wrote: It is humiliating to be reliant on them. It is inconvenient to have to keep track of them and to stock up on prescriptions. And it is toxic to know that without these perpetual interventions you are not yourself as you have understood yourself. I could not have phrased how I felt so poignantly, so beautifully, so accurately.