Second coffee, third cigarette, I’m playing one of those iPhone games where you tap on things and wait to tap again. Hours wither and die while I tap and think about what I’m not doing. Sasha texts me later in the day asking how often I think about killing myself. I’m not sure if she wants to talk about me or her. Every day, I tell her, serious or not. Glad she’s not alone, she thanks me for being miserable. I try to be grateful for her. It feels like I’m diving without a full tank of air. Tap.
Nic Addenbrooke is a freelance writer, editor, content creator, radio broadcaster, part-time poet and sometimes artist. Nic has been coming to terms with existence for years. He currently lives and works in Brisbane where he struggles to turn the cacophony of voices in his head into things of substance. It doesn’t always work but occasionally produces a nice veneer of sanity.