It could have been 10 seconds or 10 hours, but was probably closer to 10 minutes before the opening battle was won. God knows how many times I had been through the reasoning, replaying the images of hospitals, funerals, police stations, doctor's waiting rooms, bar room floors, empty bottles, blood red urine, bile encrusted sinks, twisted cars, knowing gazes, the tears on a loved ones face sliding through their fair baby-haired moustache. I hadn't been able to look in the mirror for weeks but these memories flooded my vision, as sharp as any high-definition TV; the pain, embarrasment, regret, stupidity relived so rapidly that I sought refuge on the tiled kitchen floor, clutching my knees and swaying like a caged polar bear.
Did I need to convince myself, yet again, that what lay ahead was so inevitable, literally a 'dead' end that not even my 30 years of deceit and cunning could cheat, this time? The ubiquitous chants of 'you ******* idiot', 'you stupid-selfish wanker' providing a constant bass in my head as my mouth moved silently, whilst the treble of guilt and arrogance tried to find room and keep tempo with the cries of 'take the easy way out, do everyone a favour'.
I crawled to the toilet, shaking, my head pounding, my stomach ready to rehearse it's starring role in the latest production of antiperilstasis - this one was going to run and run, breaking all records...
