I didn’t sleep at all last night.
I just slept for two hours: it’s four in the afternoon. I haven’t showered in two days. My hair is knotty and dry. My face is pale. My eyes are red.
I walked on Sandymount this morning and cried. The tears became part of the tide. I looked at the water and I wished it would come in and take me. I thought, “I could just keep walking out”; just switch off, go into screen saver mode, shut down the brain and walk. Nobody could see me. Nobody could stop me.
There was light firing down through the greyness over Killiney Hill: the kind of light you see when someone’s going on about heaven. Crooked rectangles – yeah there’s probably a mathematical term for them – stabbing the miserable rock through the fog that collects on either side of Dublin Bay.
Howth Me Killiney
I came home. Sort of. My body is here. My mind is still on the beach.
I’m too tired to cut. I’m too tired to eat, to pee, to listen, to speak.
I need someone to wash me, comb my hair, dress me, hold me but not speak to me. And not expect anything of me. I’m so tired.
I saw this print on the beach. If looked like a key. I was hopeful; was someone listening? Grandad? Aunty D? Then I saw more of the same, in pairs: they were bird prints. This one was just odd, alone; solitary.
I came home.