This district nurse — Molly’s her name (some Irish connection in her family, apparently) — has the right end of the stick on all this. She thinks I’m still living in a dream world, not connecting to the real world at all. All I’ve been thinking about since that doctor mentioned it, is this Acomplia. As if a pill can solve all my problems. Like sex. Not getting it up? Take a little blue one. Got blood clots? Take rat poison and hope you don’t die too.

It was like he’d thrown me a lifeline and, like an idiot, I was just holding on to it without thinking about it. Acomplia can’t stop me smoking. I have to do that. Acomplia can’t make me eat less fatty food. I have to do that.

It’s like I’ve been walking around drunk and now I’m just sobering up. Molly says it’s how fear takes people a lot of the time. You don’t want to think about death so you think about something else instead. I was thinking about Acomplia like it was some kind of miracle. She says some people go back to God and start praying, but God only helps those who help themselves (with or without Acomplia as Plan B).

I’m using this nursing home to hide away from the truth. Instead of relying on myself, I’m leaving it to other people (and the thought of Acomplia) to do the work for me. All this useless self-pity, like I’ve gone back to being a child again. I can’t learn how to cook at my time of life as if I don’t operate some complicated machinery at work. What kind of man, she asked me, can spent hours turning out widgets on lathes and milling machines, but can’t spread some cottage cheese on a piece of bread?

It’s funny because I’ve never actually eaten any cottage cheese. But she was at me again. There’s a lot of things I’ve never eaten before that I’m going to have to start learning to love if I want to keep on living. And that’s the big “if”, isn’t it. When you’re fixated on a magic talisman like Acomplia, you never think about the “if”. Life’s just going to go on as it has before. You take the Acomplia and somehow the job gets done. But that’s not how it works.

Am I worth saving? Look at my life. I’ve no interest in work except to earn the money to spend in the pub. My wife’s left me because my life never changed after we got married. Instead of her becoming the centre of my life, she was expected to come down the pub with me every night.

So, I’ve been thinking about taking Acomplia and not telling myself I can’t go down the pub every night.

What am I going to do with myself? I’ve never been one for sitting around watching the TV. I’m not a reader. Perhaps Molly’s right when she gave the the funeral director’s card. With or without Acomplia, I’ve got nothing to live for so I might as well plan for an early death.

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