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Christopher Vea

Jon is my friend and I can’t stand it. He knocks on my door when I would rather be on my own, he bursts in through the door and forces me out of bed. I want to be alone I say, he answers playfully: “Super, you can be on your own with me.” He pulls off the duvet and I get dressed.

He either comes round several times a week, or he rings me. He invites me to join in on his plans for the day, something I generally don’t want to do. Most days I don’t feel so good, and I need to be alone. I want to lie in bed and think, I want to feel my harsh thoughts. I politely say no thank you to Jon, but he always convinces me and at the end of the day I never regret it.

One day I get worried, he hasn’t come by or called me for a week. I don’t want to be on my own anymore and I’m starting to get bedsores.

Jon was pale and his eyes looked tired, he’d been in the hospital for too long. It was hard for him to have a conversation without losing his breath. When it got too difficult, he had a machine which helped him. I tried hard not to make him laugh too much, because if I did, he couldn’t breathe. Sometimes he stopped mid-sentence, he was a bit like a computer turning itself on and off. He was in pain, but he was always smiley and happy when I visited.

The days when Jon was happy became few and far between, he could hardly speak and for the most part just stared out of the window. One day Jon wanted to be on his own, I suggested that I could keep him company. All I got were cruel words and objects thrown at me. I stood outside, powerless as I heard him fall apart, crying.

So now I don’t feel so good. I’m on my own but I don’t really want to be. I lie in bed, brooding, the harsh feelings from before are worse now. It’s impossible to get me out of bed, I lie there, lifeless, and stare out of the window.

Jon was my friend. Now I’m alone and I can’t stand it.