Moonlight Sonata

I feel like I’m in a funk.

This brings back memories of days when I’d feel depressed in college or uni. Here’s what I’d imagine would be happening to me when everything in my life seemed to go awry. I’d put on the CD and lie on the bed and envision this for real:

Imagine Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata imbuing the room with ambience. Low lights, or no lights is ok. But it’s in the late evening and it’s a haunting tune, Moonlight Sonata. Perfect for the occasion. I’ve got the tealights and candles burning and I’m surrounded by them; on the floor, on the shelves, near the bed, on the table.

I’m on the bed. Dressed, of course. I’m lying diagonally across the bed. My arms are flung wide. My right wrist hangs over the edge of the bed. Blood seeps from the cut I’ve made on my wrist. It’s a deep enough gash to let the blood push through broken skin and trickle steadily through, dripping down. Down onto the carpet, creating a growing puddle of crimson.

My eyes are open and I can see the ceiling fan rotating overhead. I can still wriggle my toes, I can move my left fingers a little. But moving the right fingers is a bit tricky. They’re starting to feel numb. The blood is flowing faster on my right arm. I turn my head left and then move it to the right, then back to looking at the fan. The longer I lie there the more effort I need to move bits and pieces of my body. The fan keeps on spinning, blowing my fringe across my forehead, fluttering the thin cotton of my shorts.

I feel very little pain, but I know the life force is draining out of me. Slowly, surely. Drip, drip, drip. It takes a while but I feel sleepy, tired, so tired. Drip, drip. My eyes start to lose focus, I try to keep them open. It takes too much energy. Drip. I can feel my breathing start to slow. Drip. A few more breaths, another haunting note. Drip. Drip.

The blood keeps on dripping as the Moonlight Sonata fades and what’s left of me is just a shell. Vacant. Lifeless.