Begin with the (almost) end

In preparation for the 50,000 words in a month challenge I have begun reading my old diary from that period.

26 December 2008

The nine point depression checklist; I ticked 'yes most days' for every question. Yes, most days I feel sad. Most days I cry, I feel worthless. Yes, most days I think of suicide at least once. 

I've exaggerated things in the past, usually just to get attention. Nothing awful. But this time I didn't and I'm almost strangely proud of that. I told the absolute truth. 

It was Christmas eve two days ago. It was the third time in the last few months that I had resolved to go to the doctor. The thought of facing Christmas day and three ensuing days alone in a freezing cold flat with no one to help, I dissolved into panic. 
Fear is all I've felt for many months now, maybe even years if I'm really honest. Not this intense of course, not at this level of anxiety. I've always felt kicked. I've always watched others live. They seem so lively. I can remember only one period of time when this kicked feeling wasn't the case. Seven years ago; sometimes I wonder if I hang onto that period too much. Hope too much that I can go back. 

But of course, Dr Willis doesn't know any of that. She only knows my current state of paranoia, of crying in her office, of shaking and not being able to breathe. Dr Willis suggested I break up with my boyfriend and go home. Translation: please leave, you're not Scottish. 

It was clear there wasn't going to be any anti-depressants issued on Christmas eve, in fact she wondered why I didn't have anything better to do on this day. No, this was the best thing I could do. 

I fell apart in front of her then, I still remember it. What I really wanted to say was: "Can't you see me you dumb c**t? Can't you see the terror, the panic, the - can't you see I want to end this?"

I wanted something to get through the next few days. I was desperate.

The Minutes Before Midnight: a novel in a month?

Midnight has long been considered the darkest hour hasn't it? 

Horrible things happen at midnight.

Ghost stories are best told then and feasts are had as a kid when friends slept over, at that hour. 

It's two hours before midnight at the moment and I have entered a writing competition. By 11.59pm on 30 November I must have written 50,000 words of a novel. 

The Minutes Before Midnight is my entry. It is part fiction and I am bravely (or stupidly) admitting, part memoir. 

Set against a backdrop of the Global Financial Crisis, it is the story of a journalist turned Public Relations pro who moves from Western Australia to Edinburgh. Ambitious and desperate to get away from the small town dramas and the humiliation of a cheating ex-boyfriend, Tara immerses herself in the corporate world of one of the UK's biggest banks. 

A year in she begins a complicated romance with a married-but-separated co-worker and assists with a hostile takeover of a European bank. Back home tragedy strikes as a former friend is diagnosed with a terminal illness. 

Tara remains committed to her work, Edinburgh is home now.

Things are changing though. Relations sour with her married man and a lot of secret meetings are going on at work. By September 2008 the northern hemisphere is in turmoil. 

Alone and disconnected from her family and sometimes reality; one freezing night will see Tara come undone and drive her to decide, in the minutes before midnight whether she will stay in this life or go.

So, we will see if, in the minutes before midnight 30 November, I make the mark.