The Truth

Assisted Living

The department at Tara felt that I should go into what is essentially a halfway house for psychiatric fuck-ups, rather than risk landing up in a shelter or on the streets. So I'm at Sunnington, with a crowd of people who are mostly much older than me. Josh is here. He's come through on his promise to visit. He's the only one.

I pour hot water into his Ricoffy, then add a ton of sugar and Cremora. Too late, I realise that's how I like it, not him. But he doesn't complain, and drinks it without grimacing too much.

He's doing great. He spends time every day writing short stories, playing guitar, and gymming. He also dedicates a fair amount of time to mindfulness. He looks really happy.

"How do you manage to keep that structure?" I ask

"I know I have to," he says. "I know what will happen if I don't, and that acts as a constant motivation. It's tough, especially because I'm not doing things other people consider important. Practicing mindfulness helps. It's another thing others don't think is important, but I know it's essential to my survival."

There's an awkwardness between us, that was never there at Tara. I guess the context changes the relationship. We were both in the same boat then. Now I'm here, struggling to deal with crazy old people, and he's home writing stories and loving life.

"Are you looking for work?" he asks.

"Yes, but there's nothing I want to do. I just want a sinecure."

"What's a sinecure?"

"It's a job that gives you maximum pay for minimum work."

"That's a good word. A sinecure. Most people want that."

I know that he does not. He won't say so, but he's thinking it right now.

I tell him more about Sunnington, just to have something to talk about. It really is hard to find common ground now. I'm happy he came through, but I doubt he will again.

"How long was the drive here?" I ask.

"About half an hour," he says. "So not too bad."

"Have you spoken to any of the others?"

"I saw Carly the other day," he says. "She tried to kill herself on New Year's Eve. I visited her in hospital."

"How's she doing?"

"She's okay, I guess. She likes being looked after. Maybe she just needs it for a while."

I think of Carly, and her prospects. She's as hopeless as I am. My only ally left in that sense. But I imagine that she'll learn to deal with life before I do.

"What are you writing?" I ask.

Josh tells me about the science fiction short he's working on. He takes me through the genesis of how it came together, and how the concept developed. It sounds like the sort of thing I'd get excited about if I liked science fiction.

"Do you think you'll write about Tara?"

"Probably not. I've thought about it, but there's not enough story. That's not it, though. I'd have to write about my depression to put it into context, and that I'll never do. I don't want to inflict a thousandth of the experience on anyone. Maybe I'll write it for myself, but I don't want to put myself through that either. If I do, I'll delete it as soon as I'm done writing it."

"Others might not have the same experience. They'll relate to it very differently to how you or I do."

"Maybe," he says. "But I'm not going to take the risk."

When he leaves, I feel both relief and sadness. I'm lonely, but I'm only fit to be alone. I don't want to make Josh feel miserable, but I can't relate to him if he's so happy. I don't want anyone to be miserable. I only want that for myself.