December 2013 – mainly windy – Letter to myself by Simon Evans

Letter to myself

 by Simon Evans

Goodness me, you made it. Sit down, you deserve a rest.

Let’s be clear in case of any confusion. You’re here because the illness has progressed. This letter is here to help you – DON’T THROW IT AWAY. You’ve used the information on the other letters to get here – this is the last letter.

I’m convinced you’ve made the right decision to come here. The next stage of your illness renders you ‘unrecognisable even to those closest to you’, you will experience ‘extreme mood changes, seizures, confusion and loss of memory’ followed by ‘heightened anxiety and crippling physical pain’. You are better off here. As I’m sure you’re aware after the journey you’ve just completed, it’s unlikely you’ll be found any time soon. You will miss your family but this is the preferable option – believe me.

Right, grab a beer from the fridge in the kitchen (it’s clearly labelled) and turn the heater on (it’s behind you and has instructions on it).

The room you’re in is the living room. In the trunk under the window is a laptop and loads of memory sticks. These contain photos and music and old emails I thought you might find interesting. There’s also a Kindle with as many books as I could fit on it. The plug socket is behind the trunk, the electricity supply took me ages to sort out so it had better still bloody work. I still think you should just listen to all the music from A to Z and play solitaire. The doctors recommend you keeping your mind active with puzzles and focussed with music. The sofa is AMAZING. I made it out of hay and three dressing gowns!

There is a trap door under the rug under this table; this is where you’ll find spare blankets, towels, a torch, loads of spare batteries and the first aid kit. The first aid kit is full of painkillers as well as the other usual first aid kit stuff and some experimental hallucinogens. Use the pain killers according to instructions. When you run out there is no way of getting any more. There are also outdoor clothes in here. If you decide to go out make sure you wear this stuff. The weather here has a default setting of ‘mainly windy’ and ‘bloody freezing’. However, if the weather is good it’s lovely to sit on the cliff edge. The sunsets here are to die for. When you do go out take some dried meat from the kitchen cupboard (more of this later). There are a lot of wild cats in this area. Feed them, they’re your friends. The cliff also has another use, I’m sure you can figure it out.

If you pull aside the blue floral curtain on the wall on your right you’ll find a door. This leads to another storage area. It’s a kind of shed annex. It’s insulated by toilet rolls which you should use sparingly. In here you’ll find spare gas bottles (again, clearly labelled). Also in here there are spare tin openers and other tools (not that you’ve ever known what you’re doing with them but I live in hope).

The kitchen is to the left of where you’re sitting. The cupboards couldn’t be fuller. I hope you still like All Day Breakfast in a can, macaroni cheese and baked beans. There’s also rice pudding and canned fruit. If you run out you’ll find a spade in the shed annex. Under the water butt to the left of the front door I’ve buried loads more food.

The water from the tap is incredibly pure – it’s good for you – try to have eight cups a day. If the tap freezes use the bottled stuff. If you stand on the chair you’re currently sitting on in the middle of the kitchen you can reach the hatch in the ceiling. This is where the bottled water and booze supply is (again it’s insulated with toilet rolls – use these if you get desperate). The oven is fairly self-explanatory but there are instructions stuck on it anyway.

If you go through the door to the right of the oven you’ll find the bedroom. The bed is made of bedding. There are several duvets and loads of pillows and sheets and blankets. Once the bedding is dirty just stuff it in the walls in the shed annex for extra insulation and to fill the space left by the toilet rolls you’ve used. The bed will get gradually smaller but I doubt you’ll be here for too long.

The toilet can be found through the door in the bedroom. It is basically just a massive hole with a manhole cover but the view through the porthole over the sea is breath taking.

Fitting a shower was a bit beyond me but please keep clean, have some dignity. Back in the bedroom there is a small wooden chest with a lot of soap in it. You will also find mouth wash and other assorted toiletries from hotels. I reckon you should just use the water from the water butt and scrub yourself every morning but you might find a better way.

Overwhelmed by the need to be with my family, I stop reading and ball the letter to myself as tight as I can. I can’t remember writing it. Where am I? I need to find my way home. It really hurts.


3 thoughts on “December 2013 – mainly windy – Letter to myself by Simon Evans

  1. What a great read. I simply couldn’t put it down. Mind you, it was pretty short (which is of course the general idea). It left me gasping for more.

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