Get up ... Open the bedroom door ... Descend to the hotels reception ... Exit ... Cross the road ... Wander across the scrubland ... and jump off the cliff.
I lay there feeling quite panicked, clutching the bed. Liz remained dead to the world obviously and I didn't quite know what to do. Seemed a bit extreme to lean over ...
"Hey Liz, sorry to disturb you at this earlybhour but I have a rather strong urge to go and jump off a cliff!"
Despite frequently having moments of despair and thoughts of self-destruction I have never had such an acute episode and one that required will-power to stay still.
With hindsight this morning I wonder if it was actually an extreme and vivid dream provoked by anxiety at the prospect of returning home and to normality?
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