Since these posts aren’t always displayed in chronological order, you may not have read “The Uninvited Guests”, it’s what I call my voices. For faster typing I’ll refer to them as The UGs. Some are regulars, others come and go. Most of them are arseholes but there’s a small number who I consider to be the good guys. It’s usually easy to tell which category they come into, but there’s at least one I’m still not sure about. This internal dialogue left me wondering.
UG: How’s it going at the moment?
Me: Pretty shit thanks. You being here doesn’t help.
UG: But I’m here to help. You can trust me, not like the others. They’re a bunch of cunts.
Me: That’s exactly what someone who’s trying to manipulate me would say.
UG: I helped you with the morphine, didn’t I?
He was referring to the two bottles of Mandy’s morphine which I’d been keeping safe in case I needed a speedy and painless exit. He’d previously urged me to pour them down the sink, as had the bereavement counsellor I’d been seeing after Mandy’s death. I compromised and disposed of just one bottle. Bollocks to burning that bridge completely. I’ve still got it, but after ten years it’s probably lost its potency.
Me: You knew I was already thinking about it though. You could just be fucking with my head.
UG: I understand your mistrust. The way the others twist things, I don’t blame you for being suspicious, but I really am on your side mate.
Me: So what do you think I should do about this depression? It’s worse than it’s ever been. The drinking doesn’t seem to help much, just numbs it a bit.
UG: Maybe you need to drink more. There’s a lot to be said for being comfortably numb. Your family aren’t helping much either.
Me: That’s because I haven’t told them how I’m feeling.
UG: You shouldn’t have to. They know your history and you’ve lost your soulmate. They ought to know you’re suffering.
At this point I reflected on what he’d said. Were they the words of someone who genuinely had my best interests at heart, or did he have some sinister ulterior motive? I poured and quickly downed a generous shot of whisky, and did feel slightly more numb, so maybe he had a point. As to my family, I didn’t know what else they could do. As far as I knew, they had no powers of reincarnation, and I hadn’t told them the extent of my anguish, but the UG had planted a tiny seed of doubt which bothered me.
Me: That’s not really very helpful, you know.
UG: I’m just pointing out the facts to you. Sometimes the truth hurts.
Me: I don’t think a real friend would say something to hurt me.
UG: A real friend wouldn’t lie to you to protect you from an unavoidable truth. That would be misguided at best, deceptive at worst.
There was a horrible logic to that, and it didn’t make it any easier for me to decide whether he WAS one of the good guys or not. I did subsequently increase my already unhealthy alcohol intake and promised myself that I’d be a bit more forthcoming with my family. That was the end of that chat, and I didn’t hear from him again for a while, and my uncertainty about him remains.
