Day 3
"I'm just letting it wash all over me or wash through me... clean me out from the inside.
This internal sea. The problem is that this beautiful ocean carries with it loads of poisonous flotsam and jetsam . . . that poison is diluted by the sea, but once the ocean rolls out, it leaves the shite behind, inside my body. It takes as well as gives, it washes away my endorphins, my pain resistance centres; they take a long time to come back.
The wallpaper is horrific in this shite–pit of a room. It terrorises me. Some coffin–dodger must have put it up years ago . . . appropriate, because that's what I am, a coffin–dodger, and my reflexes are not getting any better . . . but it's all here, all within my sweaty grasp. Syringe, needle, spoon, candle, lighter, packet of powder. It's all okay, it's all beautiful; but I fear that this internal sea is gonna subside soon, leaving this poisonous shire washed up, stranded up in my body.
I start to cook up another shot. As I shakily hold the spoon over the candle, waiting for the junk to dissolve, I think; more short–term sea, more long–term poison. This thought though, is nowhere near sufficient to stop me from doing what I have to do."
- Trainspotting