Descent of the man

I’d park the car and sit for ages, half hoping someone would stop and ask what I was doing. I’d have had to stop crying then.

‘Why have you got a paper bag up to your mouth? Is it asthma?’

‘Oh its nothing really’ I would’ve said. Manfully controlling myself.

‘Are you sure you’re alright’?

Yes. Fine thanks…really’.

There we go again. ‘Really’. Use of a word which is totally inappropriate. ‘I’m lying’ would’ve been more apt. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with me’. ‘I feel alone. I function but …..do not live’.

Melodrama. I hate it.

Self-pity. I hate it and despise the signs of it in myself.

When did it start? I don’t know. It’s been building for years. Decades.

Aeons of holding myself in. My real self. Outwardly cool, collected and efficient. Strapped with my colleagues into a tube 33000 feet above the Arctic or the Baltic Sea. Murmansk in the distance or maybe Kaliningrad or Gdansk.

Iraq in 1991. Unarmed but there.

What if? ……. More doubt. Uncertainty and anxiety.

Part of a team but knowing I am the weak link. The part that would fail if challenged. Inside coils of fear. The anticipation of disaster. The dreadful spiral earthwards with no refuge save the cold, wind tossed waves. Loneliness.

Superstition is common amongst aircrew. Mine was more medically defined.

Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

Left glove first. Right glove. Left shoulder strap, right shoulder strap. Lap straps. Tap the left calf twice. Adjust headphones. Straighten Map pocket. Close eyes and pray to God. Ignore intercom calls from colleagues. Pray, pray, pray. Whistle, hum look cheerful while all the time the clock of luck ticks by.

Breaks coming off. ……‘Please keep us safe’

80 Knots. ………‘Please’.

V1. ……..‘Please’.

ROTATE. ……‘Please let us return safely to our homes. Don’t let today be the day’.

Eyes open. . Unstrap. Be busy and don’t think. Don’t think of the fuel pumping, the jet exhausts burning. Turbulence. Soviet fighters flying too close. Cowboy pilots risking MY life.

I’ve done things. Exciting things. Real things with real dangers present. I’ve had great times and been in love. I’ve had successes, earned money… lots of it. But, in the end I must say ….I’ve failed.

Failed in the really important things. I climbed the ladder. Groped my way to the top and found myself …..wanting.

Self-Image. Failing to live up to my own certainties. My own codes.

How do you overcome this? Cigarettes. Coffee. Seroxat. Try to build a new life. New challenges. New perspective but, …..self image. The thread stretches into the past and strangles the future. Career in tatters. Marriage failed. Is it a done deal or is there a way to overcome the past? Rebuild from inside?

Please God. Please.

Feedback: pete.garbett@ntlworld.com, 17th December 2001

This is an intriguing and powerful vignette which shows your serious side as a writer. I can relate to the theme because I suffered from panic attacks and delusions in 1976, the cause being, as you describe it, “Aeons of holding myself in. My real self.” But it wasn’t aeons in my case, since I was only 22. You create a powerful and memorable metaphor with “The thread stretches into the past and strangles the future.” I wondered what Seroxat is; I assume it’s a medication. Excellent piece!

Feedback: pete.garbett@ntlworld.com, 28th November 2001

I can’t say whether the entire episode would work just by seeing this extract. But I can say that the humour works so far and that you obviously have some experience of this kind of work – the reader senses background knowledge. I was struck by the professional layout (although I don’t think multiple exclamation marks go down well). I’ve read up on required script formats, and yours seems to be spot on, apart from one character name in lower case.