A wonderful human being called John van der Put bought me a book called A Scanner Darkly by Philip K. Dick and it aroused all kinds of profound feelings in me.
Today, John and I went to the Clapham Picture House to see the movie, starring (if that's the word as they are disfigured by the interpolated rotoscoping) Keanu Reeves, Robert Downey Jnr, Woody Harrelson and Winona Ryder. It was brilliant and lovely to see John but many of the feelings that were brought up by reading the book returned to me in waves.
I worry about losing my mind, or more accurately how much will be left of me when I'm old? The frustration is compounded by the fact that my mental health issues are of my own doing, decisions made over 15 years ago still repercussing like a pinball off the bumpers and flippers; chipping bits of me away. I worry about having no true grip on what reality is, on the anchor that holds me down coming loose and without an anchor what's stopping me flying away forever? I've had moments when I have no idea what is truth, what is fiction and what is tangible and what is imagined; after a while you begin to question the very tenets of existence and in that path lays death: a continuous suicide.
I don't want to forget who I am. I don't want to forget what love means. I don't want to forget my name.
And then comes the ghosts of long dead comrades, which makes all the worry feel vulgar and wasteful; I should be grateful that I'm here in the first place, damaged goods or not, at least I can seize the moment, I least I can exist and do the very best I can and through my actions my brothers can live on.
Philip K. Dick closes his book with the following words, so I'll steal them...
"In Memoriam. These were comrades whom I had; there are no better. They remain in my mind, and the enemy will never be forgiven. The 'enemy' was their mistake in playing. Let them all play again, in some other way, and let them be happy."