After a week and a half, though, the instinct of self-preservation prevailed, as it always does. I began drinking and smoking less each day, and slowly but surely putting the flat and myself in order. I wasn’t helped by some bloody insect temporarily making the kitchen a forbidden zone for me, and by my beginning, all of a sudden and for a reason unknown, to limp on my left leg. But I persevered.

Naturally, anxiety attacks at first strengthened, then began giving way. Yet I was so low that I have actually made an appointment with a shrink. Funny thing is, I am virtually looking forward to it. I’ll be able to talk to somebody.



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